{"id":108285,"date":"2003-03-27T07:06:42","date_gmt":"2003-03-27T12:06:42","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=108285"},"modified":"2015-10-18T11:08:26","modified_gmt":"2015-10-18T15:08:26","slug":"suzanne-wise-subjunctive","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=108285","title":{"rendered":"Suzanne Wise Subjunctive"},"content":{"rendered":"

The following is the first poem of Suzanne Wise I encountered (mentioned it here<\/a>). From then on, I was a huge fan. I am sure you will see why. <\/p>\n

Lunchtime in the Kingdom of the Subjunctive <\/big>
\nA spoon propels itself out of its soup
\nas a bone sprung free of skin <\/p>\n

or a tuning fork
\ntrembling into the background, <\/p>\n

then arcing and returning
\nas a boomerang. <\/p>\n

Meanwhile, the glass of milk glides up and out
\nof your hand, quietly streaking a gloss <\/p>\n

of stars through your suddenly glowing hair.
\nMeanwhile, toast combusts in a golden dust. <\/p>\n

Butter drops form clouds that release an ocher rain.
\nYou grow misty-eyed, nostalgic. <\/p>\n

This feeling is alleviated by a sense of dread
\nand instability as the tabletop turns metallic, <\/p>\n

tips and revolves as a chain-saw blade
\nslicing the floor into windows <\/p>\n

you slowly and gracefully crash through.
\nSplintered glass sequins your skin. <\/p>\n

Your hands reaching for the doorknob
\nsharpen to cones. The door soars. <\/p>\n

Your legs run too fast, lose their feet
\nto curls of smoke drifting up the stairs. <\/p>\n

You spend hours, or possibly years, floating around like this —
\nlight-headed, fuzzy-brained, <\/p>\n

cotton-mouthed. You have fallen in love
\nwith the way light refracts in impossible ways. <\/p>\n

Later darkness barges in horizontally,
\nlike a lawn cutting itself down. <\/p>\n

It is night without shadows
\nand everything is way too shallow. <\/p>\n

You are too close to the picture
\nto see if you’re included. <\/p>\n

You fall headfirst down the drain
\nsucking the bright out of colors. <\/p>\n

You become somber, colder, a kind of high-quality vinyl,
\nand, in some places, an old damp velvet. <\/p>\n

Meanwhile your head continues to plummet,
\nhas become a potholed highway <\/p>\n

splitting into stalks, going to seed
\nas you talk yourself into the distance. <\/p>\n

You are telling yourself: Do not be afraid.
\nYou are begging: God help me. <\/p>\n

You are whining: If only
\nI had not come home for lunch today. <\/p>\n

If only I had some kind of anchor
\nin here. If only I could disappear. <\/p>\n

You know you should be ashamed.
\nThis is the kindof compulsive behavior <\/p>\n

you are always being criticized for.
\nBut it’s not you anymore. <\/p>\n

It’s that soup bowl,
\nnow soupless and spinning, hovering <\/p>\n

and singing, sparkling like a god and spitting
\nits empty refrain in the faces of all your bestselves: <\/p>\n

If only ______, then ______ .
\nIf only ______, then ______ .<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The following is the first poem of Suzanne Wise I encountered (mentioned it here). From then on, I was a huge fan. I am sure you will see why. Lunchtime in the Kingdom of the Subjunctive A spoon propels itself … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[9],"tags":[160],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/108285"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=108285"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/108285\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":108287,"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/108285\/revisions\/108287"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=108285"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=108285"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=108285"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}