Five Poems
by Maria Fischer
Just the Antique of a Birth Swallowing Open my Sternum
Mai Der Vang wrote
An “Ars Poetica”
That is not the original
“Ars Poetica” by Horace
Or the “Ars Poetica”
By Archibald MacLeish
I teach my high school juniors,
But an “Ars Poetica”
That features the WXRT
Cool of the line,
“I am surrendering
to the pinky of my childhood
As it misfires
Out of a sycamore
From the eighties”
And that’s my “Ars Poetica,”
Baby: 80s, bitchin’,
INXS concerts
And the original Beetlejuice,
Killer, righteous, punk,
Full of possibilities
And back to the future,
Young, free, totally.
“Ars Poetica” literally
Means “the art of poetry”
And my art is currently
Exhausted and old.
I am reminded to
Surrender to the pinky promise
Of my childhood.
I told myself I’d grow up
And be cool.
It’s ars poetica, aging.
And it’s ok.
It’s “just the antique of a birth
swallowing open my sternum.”
The Whiteness of a Mother’s Love
Joy Ladin writes in “Political Poem,”
“I remember the whiteness of my mother’s love,
The coupon-clipping whiteness,”
And I, too, remember the
“Lower-middle-class love” of a mother
Broken and depressed
And suburban and dressed
In the polyester of the 70s housewife
With a husband at the bar.
Ladin writes of her mother’s “childhood Depression”
With a capital D, the history, the Grapes of Wrath
Of it all, while my mother spread lowercase “d”
Depression on me like Parkay Margarine
On Wonder Bread. “No one could look
At the motions we went through”
And see anything other than a mother’s love.
Neglect and blame were our CandyLand,
Bad credit our Chutes and Ladders.
And none of it matters, ultimately,
Really. The personal is political,
And we were privileged, after all:
The crestfallen former bride and the child
Who failed to be an ally.
We had a home. We had a car.
“Eyes disguised as carpet stains”
And a rapidly filling resentment reservoir.
You, Too
Each one
Teach one
In poetry, too;
Not only
The slaves and
The Sioux.
You
Must learn
To read the coup,
To write the
Breakthrough,
To do the
Living
Only you
Can do.
The Weight of a Tambourine Falls Somewhere in Between
“The average woman’s purse weights approximately one kilo. The average woman’s heart weighs nine ounces. The weight of a tambourine falls somewhere in between, a little closer to the heart than the handbag.” – Tom Robbins, Skinny Legs and All
I don’t carry a purse.
Years ago I carried my driver’s license
And insurance card in the cup holder
Of my car.
I’ve aged, of course, and
Now often need a handbag,
But I feel I’ve kept that freedom.
I get burned out, of course, but
My teacher’s heart weighs
Far more than nine ounces.
Nate wrote about his anxiety
In a writing prompt before
The assigned poem.
I answered with a positive note home
And a list of book recommendations.
He raises his hand more now.
He said, “Thanks for the note.”
It’s not much.
Nine ounces.
But it matters more
Than my nineteen years
In customer service.
Now, the weight of a tambourine
Is a totally different thing.
I have anxiety too, of course,
And question this world.
I don’t have skinny legs.
I could pay off those student loans
If I just went back to the old job.
But my pocketbook
Wouldn’t rattle with the percussion
Of value.
Skyscrapers
Because all the best
Stories are written about loss,
Our loyal lovers get left
Behind. Their doing the dishes
Is abandoned in favor
Of Alejandro Zambra’s
“Skyscrapers,” in which he writes,
“But I had no idea
That those years would be fun,
Intense, and bitter,
And would be followed by
A much longer, perhaps indefinite period
During which we knew nothing of each other.”
Our loyal lovers,
In contrast,
In direct deposit to the checking account
And kind note which credit card to use,
Get abused.
They are not “utterly unerasable.”
They are traceable
In the water bill paid,
The bed made,
Capable and inescapable and lovely,
Really,
But not the unshakable fiction we create.
BIO: Maria Fischer has no social media. But don't be fooled. She'll stalk the dickens out of you. Her work has been published in the Wingless Dreamer anthology and by Bellowing Ark Press. She can be reached at mfischer@jj.edu.