#ada writes poems

[adawritesfanfic]

My Ex-Boyfriend

cf. My Last Duchess

BROWNING

That’s my ex-boyfriend’s work you’re looking at. He liked to make digital art; this tat- Too—all my ink, in fact—began as files On his computer. Bet they’d stretch for miles If laid out end to end, all his designs. Oh yes, they’re finely drawn, these several lines— But never mind the tracery on my skin. Tell me about yourself. Like, what’s your sin Of choice? One’s vices mold one’s character, I think, into such curious shapes. Incur A few like mine then, since you claim you’ve none. The worst of them? It’s jealousy: the sun At midday burns no brighter than my rage When I suspect a partner’s false. A sage Guess, that, but no, this boyfriend didn’t cheat On me; that’s not why we broke up. A treat It might have been though, to have caught him out: I rather like to rage and scream and shout.

Instead, I found myself fending off “I Love you’s” till, to forestall more puppy eye- S, I finally said it back: “I love you too— So much I can’t quite bear it.” Right on cue He kissed me like the world was burning up. And then he set to with a will: my cup Ran over many times that night, to put The matter biblically. Ouch! That’s my foot. Don’t worry, we’re all klutzes in a crowd. Ha! Since you ask, yes, he was well-endowed. Yes, very smart. His parents? Well, had we Got married I’d have been spared in-laws; he Was orphaned at thirteen. A car crash, yes, You guessed it. No, thank God, he got the mess Out of his system long before we met And never fussed about his loss. What, debt? No way. Impeccable, his finances. He did read, yes. That poem about Cortez, Or was it Homer—right, by Keats. His fav- Orite, or one of them. Yes, you bet he gave Great gifts (and head). No, I don’t mind at all, Ask anything, however big or small. Ah, that’s the million-dollar question. Truth Is, I left him. — Oh hey, look, there’s a booth Just opened up, let’s grab it. — Anyway, Do stop apologizing, it’s okay: You made the natural assumption. I’m Not impressive, so how’d I catch this prime Guy—just to dump him? I can’t speak to what He saw in me: I’m pretty, kind of, but I’d call myself a seven, tops. My ex, Though, smashed the scale. Just—one of those perplex- Ing people standards don’t apply to, who Don’t even know it, much less care—imbue- D with excellences they’re as heedless of As fish of water—yeah, you gotta love The type, right? They should form a club and shine Among themselves sequestered. Then—more wine? You’re very welcome—we mere groundlings might Pretend to quality. And yet, despite My ex’s membership in that elite— Or rather, different from the rest replete With gifts—he didn’t make you feel compelled To catalog your failings. He dispelled Your insecurities—the opposite Effect. Imperatives like being wit- Ty, pretty, perfect, best, which motivate Our daily doings—these just dissipat- Ed in his presence. Alex—yes, his name— Just—was. Around him you forgot the game. He radiated wholeness, centeredness, And just by being gave you worthiness. —I’m waxing over-eloquent, forgive Me. But—exactly!! It’s one thing to live A light, another to live with that light. It blinded me. It burned me. With no night To rest my sight, no blight however slight, I, hollow-eyed, began to crave a fight. I went big, that’s my style. I lied and said I cheated. I concocted, stirred, and fed Him quite the tale. He believed every word. He took it calmly. Yes, I’d have preferred Hysterics, anyone would, but I knew Better than to expect a grand debut Of temper even then and there. He asked If he might borrow my car. “For air.” I masked My irritation—Jaguars aren’t the best Beginners’ car—said yes to his request— Undressed and got in bed. Suffice to say, I never saw that car again. Obey- Ing traffic laws, apparently, is hard To do when freshly broken up with. Charred, Completely totaled, that poor car. Alex? Wasn’t it clear? He died. Ha, the apex Of my career as storyteller’s not Tonight: the misdelivered punchline’s shot. You guessed his parents’ crash, why not his own? I see. Yes, movies give us plotlines sewn Up neatly with a bow. We don’t expect The same of life. In this case, the direct Parallel between son’s and parents’ death Arrests our sense that life’s not art. — Hey! Seth! —I beg your pardon: that’s the friend I was Early to meet. Like who? My God, he does! A dead ringer, you’re right. Well, Cary Grant’s Clone texted me to join him by those plants. It’s been so lovely talking with you. Oh, Sure! Have another look. It’s a tableau: The angel sleeping, devils gather round. The deity presides, aloof and crowned.

[lucidloving]

Mahmoud Darwish, In the Presence of Absence // Ada Limón, "Lies About Sea Creatures" // Sherita Walker // @itsbaditsgood // Richard Siken, "I Had a Dream About You" // Richard Siken, "You Are Jeff" (8) // Richard Siken, "Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out" // @_demarmol on Instagram // Anne Sexton, "The Touch"

[asoftepiloguemylove]

"I BELIEVE THERE IS A GOD. BUT I'M NOT SURE HE STILL BELIEVES IN US." // MUSINGS ABOUT GOD

Vi Khi Nao Fish in Exile // pinterest // Ada Limón The Echo Sounder, from "Lucky Wreck" // Mitski Bug Like an Angel // Margaret Atwood Half Hanged Mary // Ethel Cain American Teenager // Supernatural (2005-2020) cr. Eric Kripke // Elle Emerson Regarding the Röttgen Pietà // Yves Olade Belovéd // Kim Addonizio Wild Nights from "Tell Me" // Jensen McRae Machines // Supernatural (2005-2020) cr. Eric Kripke // Anna Kamienska A Nest of Quiet: A Notebook (tr. Clare Cavanagh) // Tom Waits Day After Tomorrow // pinterest // Lauren Camp Upon Taking the Universe One Thing at a Time

[thoughtkick]

The heart is so tired of beating herself up, she wants to stop it still, but also she wants the blood to return, wants to bring in the thrill and wind of the ride, the fast pull of life driving underneath her.

Ada Limón, from Downhearted

[perfectfeelings]

If you can't give me poetry, can't you give me poetical science?

Ada Lovelace

[perfectquote]

The heart is so tired of beating herself up, she wants to stop it still, but also she wants the blood to return, wants to bring in the thrill and wind of the ride, the fast pull of life driving underneath her.

Ada Limón, from Downhearted

[thespilledquotes]

If you can't give me poetry, can't you give me poetical science?

Ada Lovelace

[taciturned]

like minds, 2006

ada limón / richard siken / marie rutkoski / margaret atwood / hedgie choi

[perfeqt]

The more I study, the more insatiable do I feel my genius for it to be.

Ada Lovelace

[thehopefulquotes]

If you can't give me poetry, can't you give me poetical science?

Ada Lovelace

[adawritesfanfic]

Sestina, again

It was love at first sight: his name was John. We met over diamonds at Tiffany’s, Where he was looking for a gift. His wife Never knew what she missed. The pendant hit My neck at just the spot to most become The line and arc and hollow of my throat.

The marquise diamonds gleaming at my throat Composed a star. “As you’re a star,” said John, “Lighting my night so brightly it’s become “The day.” I left the job at Tiffany’s: The carrot was the latest Broadway hit. Hoteliers knew to treat me as his wife.

At times, I thought about her, his real wife. At times, my fingers idling at my throat Would graze the pendant, and the guilt would hit: I’d stolen more than diamonds from her. John Called me the brightest jewel at Tiffany’s. And for love of him, that’s what I’d become.

I told him, or tried: “I think we become “What we love the most.” He laughed. “Then my wife “Would be me. My shopgirl from Tiffany’s “Would then leave me and go to her.” My throat Closed up at that. “I’ll never leave you, John.” If he meant it to hurt, he scored a hit.

But that was once, and I sustained the hit. We traveled less. I asked. “Yes, she’s become “Suspicious,” he said, too casually. “John—” “Hush. Jessica may be my jealous wife “But you’re my star. Come on.” He touched my throat. “Let’s get you something new at Tiffany’s.”

This time he bought me pearls at Tiffany’s. On the way out, he started, as if hit. I knew her right away. Hand at her throat, She studied me. “Well, those pearls do become “You more than they would me. I’m just the wife.” He stepped between us. “Jessica—“ “Stop, John.

“I’ve cast the john, the whore—and now the wife. “Your lovely-throated girl from Tiffany’s “Will make my film—‘Becoming Me’—a hit.”

[quotefeeling]

The more I study, the more insatiable do I feel my genius for it to be.

Ada Lovelace

[asoftepiloguemylove]

Laura Gilpin The Two-Headed Calf // Linda Pastan Why Are Your Poems so Dark? // Margaret Atwood Shapechangers In Winter // @/doeantlers (twitter) // Vladimir Nabokov Letters to Vera // Ada Limón Dead Stars // @xshayarsha

[resqectable]

The more I study, the more insatiable do I feel my genius for it to be.

Ada Lovelace

[thoughtkick]

If you can't give me poetry, can't you give me poetical science?

Ada Lovelace

[perfectfeelings]

The more I study, the more insatiable do I feel my genius for it to be.

Ada Lovelace