When I ask others
if they watch it
and they gather a guilty face
and gently say “No,”
I talk about the wonders.
It started for me two years
ago,
on a regular November,
nothing to lose.
I sat on our red couch
in our best apartment
and gave my hardest crying
to that show I never quit.
Still, no one has tried it,
even with my testimony.
Because my recommendation
might as well be void.
____________________________________________________________________
When I Am Asked by Lisel
Mueller
When I am asked
how I began writing
poems,
I talk about the indifference
of nature.
It was soon after my mother
died,
a brilliant June day,
everything blooming.
I sat on a gray stone
bench
in a lovingly planted
garden,
but the day lilies were as
deaf
as the ears of drunken
sleepers
and the roses curved
inward.
Nothing was black or
broken
and not a leaf fell
and the sun blared endless
commercials
for summer holidays.
I sat on a gray stone
bench
ringed with the ingenue
faces
of pink and white
impatiens
and placed my grief
in the mouth of
language,
the only thing that would
grieve with me.
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