gemtactics : a journal

... a bad poem's reluctance to use concrete objects ...

Dream of my father-in-law. We are alone together in a large room; it's uncomfortable, because we are never alone and we never talk. This time he questions me, asks me if I went to college. We are sitting so far apart I can't hear him and keep asking "What?" I am intensely aware of my body language, which is keeping him away from me even though I don't want to be so far apart. I am aware that I'm eating ice and this may not be wise symbolically.

Dirt. Tonight's memories of Illinois dirt, in our subdivision, carved just yesterday out of a farm, carved just yesterday out of a prairie. We walked in the last furrow of the soybean field. We made this furrow a free zone; the adjoining lawns were not. Farmer Ralph would yell at us from way down in his yard, far far down the sloping field. The furrows were deep and the dirt was dark and crumbly. I can taste the dirt now. I knew Farmer Ralph's name although I never spoke to him.

Spinach. I said "I believe in this spinach" and twirled the leaf briefly so it danced between my fingers.

Lemon. Eating the pulp from the halved lemon. It tastes good, the after-dinner lemon.

Honey.

Snow.

Jasmine.

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	January 4, 2001

	... a bad poem's reluctance to use concrete objects ... Dream of my father-in-law. We are alone together in a large room; it's uncomfortable, because we are never alone and we never talk. This time he questions me, asks me if I went to college. We are sitting so far apart I can't hear him and keep asking "What?" I am intensely aware of my body language, which is keeping him away from me even though I don't want to be so far apart. I am aware that I'm eating ice and this may not be wise symbolically. Dirt. Tonight's memories of Illinois dirt, in our subdivision, carved just yesterday out of a farm, carved just yesterday out of a prairie. We walked in the last furrow of the soybean field. We made this furrow a free zone; the adjoining lawns were not. Farmer Ralph would yell at us from way down in his yard, far far down the sloping field. The furrows were deep and the dirt was dark and crumbly. I can taste the dirt now. I knew Farmer Ralph's name although I never spoke to him. Spinach. I said "I believe in this spinach" and twirled the leaf briefly so it danced between my fingers. Lemon. Eating the pulp from the halved lemon. It tastes good, the after-dinner lemon. Honey. Snow. Jasmine.