desirous woman, online

Man, the drive to keep up with an online blog—I really do admire the folks who have it. Or, as I’ve said before, people who maintain any consistent writing practice. I was thinking about this earlier, my lack of discipline, particularly around creative work. But I don’t really have much of it elsewhere in my life either, if I really consider it. What’s a habit that I keep up, just because I know I should, not necessarily because I enjoy it? I guess the most obvious is oral hygiene: flossing, though still not an every day thing, has surpassed the tier of “I do it because I have a dentist appointment scheduled for next week.”

What else, what else? Time passes, the world turns, everything seems on the point of collapse and yet here we are. I won a poetry contest back in the fall. It was strange and delightful, an honor completely unexpected. But, I couldn’t shake in the immediate a sense, this knowing with utmost clarity, that of course I would win the contest. As I sat and listened to other people’s poems, people who have been writing and reading poetry with much more serious intent, I couldn’t deny that I believed my poem was equal to, or maybe even a little better than, most of them. Yes, it was an arrogance on my part, but the worst thing was having it confirmed; that, in fact, I am amazing and talented and beloved. How am I supposed to contend with that? The universe should not encourage my own personal bias towards myself. It’s confusing.

So, I deal with it by reminding myself of my shortcomings and failures. I’ve always operated in a tiny little bubble of privilege, therefore it’s no great mystery why I’ve excelled. Really exposing myself to risk, that’s what I’m working towards. Not like making stupid, unhinged decisions—that I’ve got covered. No, opening myself up to being known, that’s really what I want. Maybe that was the real benefit of winning that poetry contest. It was one of the first times in my adulthood I can remember being so vulnerable in front of a large group of people. Can’t say it’ll always go over that well, but it cracked something inside me, a pressure point that needed to be released. I’ll likely make a huge mess or several, but I’m glad to have finally changed something.

Well, I guess on that note, I’ll finish with my award-winning poem.

horsegirls

I used to not understand horsegirls
with their braids
and brushes
and fresh folders they’d bring
to the first day of school
plastered with ponies and bubbly
pink text that says “hay!” (spelled h-a-y)
because, I guess, even horsegirls
like a pun

they loved horses, these girls;
adored them with a reckless abandon
that I at 9 years old
had never experienced for myself

“what do horses do?”

I asked

then, one day after I’d grown up
and I was driving the rural back road
to my parents’ house, I saw
as if for the first time

horses,
two, together in a field
watching as I approached

and I couldn’t help
but pull to a stop,
transfixed by the serenity
of their situation

In that moment I felt
with absolute clarity the spell
these peculiar creatures cast
on those horsegirls of my childhood

Like they were dear old friends,
waiting and knowing
I was on my way
and now that I’d arrived
they could not wait
to tell me everything