Because we're bad at saying goodbye
As all of you know, I write pretty serious poems. Usually about pretty serious things. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had trouble approaching the page with any other orientation. Sometimes it feels like I’m trapped in the belief that in order for a poem to count, it’s got to be consequential in some way, in subject matter or execution or both. I rarely let myself just play, or write something trivial or fun or light.
Even when I set out to write a love poem, it ends up being heavy somehow. And what’s more, I have trouble writing anything that won’t be read as literary, that self-serious designation we all know and love and no one can quite define, which precludes me from writing sweetly or sentimentally, lest it be received as “light verse.”
I think, at some level, all of this is to my detriment. Not saying I should give up on writing serious poems but, at least as personal practice for my own sanity, I think there’s a time and place for writing in a different tenor. And heck, sometimes those unserious poems might turn out alright.
And so we have today’s piece.
In a few weeks, my best friend is leaving on a jet plane with two suitcases and a cat, moving from Detroit to New York to begin law school. I’m a little bit torn up about it to be sure, but I’m mostly just incredibly excited for her, and think she’s making the right choice.
While she doesn’t leave until the end of the month, I’m heading out on a long family road trip on Monday, which means our last chances to see each other are this week, and this week is running out. So it’s goodbyes time. I’m not the best at expressing myself out loud sometimes, and get a little shy around emoting in public, so I decided I ought to write her a poem in order to say some of the things I couldn’t muster in my speaking voice.
But once I started writing, I realized I couldn’t access any serious feelings, only sweet ones, sentimental ones! Despite some initial discomfort, I decided to run with it. Thus was born “Because we’re bad at saying goodbye,” a tender poem for a tender moment, one that’s playful and pleasant and kind. Which is, you know, how I’m feeling, so I guess it’s okay to write that way.
Anyway, this one’s for Hannah (hi Hannah!). I’m going to miss you a lot, but I hope your travels are safe and your memories rich, and I can’t wait to visit you in the city. Wish her luck, everybody!
My dear friend Vincent (hi Vincent!) is also leaving Detroit this summer for graduate school, so wish him luck, too!
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In other news: Happy Failing Empire Day! This country I live in is a joke wrapped inside of a tragedy, or maybe it’s the other way around.
I have little faith in its institutions, don’t trust any of its leaders, and don’t think the powers that be care if I live or die. What’s more, it’s in the middle of aiding and abetting a genocide with arms and cashflow while it refuses to feed and house its own citizens. What’s more more, both major parties seem content that there’s an ongoing war being waged here against women. What’s more more more, both major parties seem content to remain intransigent on the matter of climate change, the existential crisis of our times, giving lip service at best to any plan that might mitigate the damage we’re doing to the planet.
Despite all of that, there’s this part of me that still wants to believe in voting for the lesser of two evils, to do my part to make this country less bad less quickly, even as I know no vote (and no candidate) is going to make this country anything that resembles “good.” But I know I can’t and won’t bring myself to vote for Joe Biden, he of the diminished faculties and the aided and abetted genocide. So, despite my better judgement, I’ve become preoccupied with his stepping aside, to be replaced by some lesser ghoul who might, just maybe, be a little bit better.
I’m probably a fool for this, and I’m a little embarrassed to admit it, but I guess it’s how I feel and it feels dishonest not to say anything. I don’t know if I’ll end up voting in November, but I’m thinking about it. There’s a pretty broad left-of-center spectrum of political viewpoints amongst all of you readers, and I know “maybe I’ll vote” is a sentiment sure to make just about everyone roll their eyes, but there you have it.
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Alright, alright, that’s enough about that. Now please clear your heads and enjoy this piece of light verse, which is really quite sweet, if I do say so myself.
Because we’re bad at saying goodbye
you say you kinda like summer storms
at least from the inside looking out,
leaving you
with just breeze and sound and grey.
you say you’ll miss the trees, the way
they rustle in the rain, the way
big green leaves collect little waterfalls
in the downpour. in the City,
storms accumulate in the gutters
and on the rooftops
and in the spines of so many
black umbrellas: you say you’ll miss
how small Detroit can be. we talk
a lot about the weather but style it
poetry. I’ll miss that, knowing
we share the same sky. but you have
undone what’s hemmed you in, stitch
by stitch, unafraid of fraying
while you reach for tomorrow. you say
you’ll miss me over the top
of blistering resonants from the sky,
thunderclaps loud like a Brooklyn train
punctuate your resolve. we don’t see
each other that often, but
you know I know the way
down I-80 and across the bridges,
you know these trees will miss you, too.