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March 23, 2006
A Body That Expands
Another Thursday, another mild hangover. Yesterday was a friend's birthday and we went out to celebrate. I only had two beers but they were Belgian beers brewed by Trappist Monks, and we all know how completely loaded those guys like to get. Plus, as sometimes (but not always) happens when I drink, I then couldn't sleep, and took some sort of pill to help the process. All of which made for a crappy next morning.
The good thing about drinking during the week is that it frees my weekend up for extended sobriety. The bad thing about drinking during the week is, well, all the stuff I mentioned above, plus the fact that it means I don't really feel like blogging. And I even have a couple of things I want to write about! I may just have to write the entry today and post it tomorrow. Anyway, I'm going to do the cheater thing and post another poem. This one was written years ago, about my little sister.
My sister sings Puccini in the shower.
A fever ripped the muscle of her heart
when she was five but now she is almost
twenty-one and lovely. She leaves music
open like an invitation at the
piano in her bedroom; she can't manage
money and loves to examine the map
of the world hanging on my bedroom wall.
She studies music: she sings soprano.
She told me, "I play the saxophone
but my main instrument is my body."
Perhaps you already knew that. I had thought
only of vocal cords, not a whole body
that expands with air and vibrates.
The first time you heard someone produce
a series of expansive, varied tones
travelling effortlessly around you,
did it seem like a miracle or just
the only sensible way for ears, throat
and lungs to work together? Pardon me
if I seem bewildered. My sister loves
microwave egg rolls and owns fifty pair
of shoes. She is lovely but silly though
she doesn't look frail; she doesn't know
that I leave my room in the apartment
we share to listen to her practicing,
singing Puccini in the shower because
steam makes the arias easier.
The rhythm of her heart is thump whoosh whoosh;
her blood is never sure where it is going.
Posted by Holly at March 23, 2006 10:11 AM
Comments
I love this poem, Holly.
Posted by: Reese Witherfork at March 23, 2006 1:56 PM
Lovely imagery Holly. Lay off the juice and write more poems! :O)
Posted by: Rich at March 23, 2006 4:09 PM
This is really beautiful, Party Girl.
"She told me, 'I play the saxophone
but my main instrument is my body.'"
So cool.
Posted by: frankengirl at March 23, 2006 6:56 PM
Thanks for the kind words, people. I admit that this is one of my personal favorites.
Posted by: Holly at March 25, 2006 3:29 PM
Wow, I know I'm falling back through your posts rather than springing ahead but this poem was amazing! Just wonderful. I hate it when my crusty demeanour is weakened by beauty. Dale
Posted by: Dale at April 3, 2006 6:52 PM