Here I am reading a poem at a gathering of California Poets Laureate, past and present, organized by California Poet Laureate Dana Gioia with help from the amazing Connie Post, past Poet Laureate of Livermore, who keeps a directory of all California PLs! Thank you, Connie. And thanks to Farah Sosa, Courtesy of the California Arts Council, for the photo.
This early October 2018 gathering was the first time all the PLs were in one place. Gioia talked about how poetry is the fastest growing art form in America, measured by book sales and participation in our communities. Poetry is the most concise and powerful form of writing. Poetry gives a voice to those who otherwise might not have one. And community Poets Laureate democratize the art form, bringing it down from its ivory tower and dispelling the notion that only those with an erudite education can "understand" poetry. Poetry is for everyone! We are all equal in the eyes of poetry.
Use your words.
Here is my poem, published in red wheelbarrow, the literary journal of De Anza College. My long-suffering husband, bless him, sits in the audience and grimaces whenever I read this poem.
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Hang On A Little Bit Longer, Honey
for Petra
Shortly after we are married, my husband gets me to say
that if he and my cat were dangling from a cliff, and I could only
save one, that I would save him. We are in bed when I say this.
I know. Already you can see where this is going. He’s been asking me
for some time, and when we were engaged, I always said the cat.
But now I say, I would save you, honey. He’s curled up behind me,
his knees to my thighs, the smooth tops of his feet pressed
to the bottoms of mine. He has nice feet. I would save you, I say,
and he pulls me in tight to his chest. And I pull the cat to mine.
Now you have to understand that this cat and I go way back.
I’m talking about Hamburger Helper when I couldn’t afford
the hamburger, and an apartment where a bat flew into the bathroom
one time. But that’s another poem. What I want to say here
is that the cat burrows under the covers, turning in her usual circles,
and lifts her pink nose to mine. She weighs fourteen pounds.
Most of that was put there by me, and by mayonnaise, but I never
mention that to the vet because she really likes it. Don’t judge.
I kiss my cat’s cool ears and smell her head, and she thrums hard
against my chest. Cats do this, you know, to heal one another.
Saw it on a nature show. In a colony, they gather around the downed
one and purr it back to life, or into the next. It’s a good send off.
So I ask you, what doesn’t this cat know of love? She is patient
and solid as a bowling ball. And she looks at me in green certainty,
like she would at the cliff, if her clipped claws were slipping on the rock.
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Oh, my cat Petra and I loved each other very much. She passed away in 2014. Before I met my husband, Petra and I were each other's roommates and best friends. Now my husband is my best friend. Petra knew this. One night when we were sleeping, she hopped up on his pillow and peed on his head. Bad cat. He leaped up and chased her around the house, yelling a string of expletives that amounted to "bad cat" and a bunch of threats. I was trying so hard not to laugh. Is that horrible of me? I just had the feeling that if I laughed at that moment, it would have done damage to my relationship with hubby. Oh, Petra. That was very wrong of you. But I still love you, and I know that in cat heaven you are loving me, too.
