Matthew Vetter
Photo: littledan77
It is easy to find you,
because you want to be found.
You hide in the same place every time:
crouching in a pile of your mother’s shoes,
beneath a canopy of her dresses.
You knock on the folding closet doors
if it takes me too long,
impatient for the thrill of discovery.
Now it is my turn.
Count to ten,
I tell you as I walk to the bathroom.
I step into the tub and pull
the curtain, the only witness
the whiskers in the sink.
Unlike you, I am playing to hide.
Each time you pass me over,
mistakenly looking in all the wrong places,
only encourages me to be quieter,
to let my breathing slow and soften.
I have felt this before,
that I can never put enough distance
between myself and the others,
that I cannot go deep enough
into the dark quiet places of my body.
4 comments so far ↓
Russ Kesler // Oct 3, 2008 //
Nice, Matt. I appreciate the dark turn this takes at the end.
Jill Koren // Oct 4, 2008 //
This is a lovely poem, full of the usual quiet, spot-on observation that I find so rewarding in your poetry. I love the difference between the child and parent. And I’m not sure I agree with Russ about the ending being dark. I think the introverts among us are misunderstood. People seem to think it is wrong to enjoy solitude, but what could a poet do without it?
matthewvetter // Oct 8, 2008 //
Russ and Jill,
Thanks for your comments. I appreciate the discourse created by your opposing claims. How do we view a parent’s need for solitude? How do we define the artist’s need for solitude? Is it egocentric for the artist to demand “A Room of One’s Own,” and allow other responsibilities of family, community, etc to become secondary priorities? These are the questions I find myself pondering again and again as my poetry continues to be informed by interpretation and representation of the domestic.
Clare // Oct 25, 2008 //
Everything is in the ordinary; ordinary living and games with a son allow one to cherish the stolen moments needed for discovery of the precious stillness within.
Comment