Tessa, You Know What’s Tragic?

While my son is being soldierly,
I busied myself. I wanna be
the hearth; cook up some carrot
soup, coz what nourishes you
can chase the bad thing,
put it on a slide, and yea it’s
downhill all the way.

You know what’s tragic? Not
the cold, nor the sweat, nor
the filth, nor an aching calf.
So is suffering a sacrament?
Force a commitment? Funny how
when you’re outwardly sloppy
you’re cleansed on the inside.

Crying out to the angel of mercy,
relief! So in reply, we’re
vocational, then put our house
in order, wanting to pour out
confessions along the way,
kinda like wearing a true mask,
but mask all the fucking same.


Day 10

“Write a tragic poem. Two courses of action here: Write a poem that is heavy, or write a poem that is light. Or write a poem that could be heavy or light. For instance, a tragedy could be Shakespeare’s Hamlet or a bad hair day.”


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