Blogging affords so many opportunities. To connect, to receive feedback, to edit, to obsess.  It shines a light on the writer’s process, inside and all-visible. What a gift.

(You can imagine me saying this with genuine enthusiasm or dripping with sarcasm and be right either way.)

The feedback piece is particularly significant for me a the moment.  I’m challenged with perspective right now in my writing and my life – unbalanced in the big four corners of relationship: take in, share impact, offer out, receive impact.  My rectangle is askew, swollen with the taking in.  This is a comfy, risk-free place to be.   I have been reading books, listening to you talk, reading your blogs… choosing to sit quietly in response.  It’s nice sometimes, but gets unsatisfying quickly. My own bubbles begin rising to the surface and knock on the door, you don’t know that I’ve been listening to you or reading, and the world starts feeling bigger and more alone.  Relationships and communities and creative energies are organic, living things that wilt and break down when left untended.

I forget this, then I remember.  Today, I remember.  To all of you, my friends, please consider this an apology for my neglect in the sharing feedback loop, recently and probably for most of our relationship.   (And look for a spree of blog comments from me shortly.)

Last night I made an offering – writing and posting a poem here.  When I do this, the little stats graph that charts the number of visits to my blog magically leaps up and comments start coming in.  For sure, I am guilty of seeking validation for my little ego, but far more valuable is the hearing and understanding of how my words impact you. It grows me as a writer and as a person and I am ever-so grateful for your thoughtful honesty.

One such piece of meaty feedback goodness inspired a re-write of last night’s poem.  It is new to me, this ultra-visible experimentation.  Like inviting you over to try my new soup recipe. May I be so bold as to ask you how it graces your palate and lands in your belly?  Missing nutmeg? Too much pepper?


head loll down and to the side
let jaw go
chest balloon blow in, out

worry about dishes that haven’t broken yet
turn left
soundtrack: pulse, night, honey

make up stories
see flowers in the dark
see them
psychic message in a bottle: delivered

replay dinner
stop for kitten
think about work
wonder if

wonder if

wonder if

the un-want is hot again.

wrapped tight, moving nothing
hands and elbows push out the skin suit
from inside ribs    face     skull
more, with
each intolerance.

cooperation is a choice.

wrap it tighter.
I want to feel what I’m breaking



Filed under invitations, lisa goettel, offerings, poetry, writing

4 responses to “Again.

  1. I like your new edit….it seems more genuine, more effortless. Poetry is so captivating. Those of us who are close to you let our own egos enter in and I feel instantly felt fear when I see “drive” and “turn left” and “replay dinner” and I fall into my old WORRIED mode, feeling like not only can’t I be a mime or librarian (because I talk too much,) and that your visit home was overshadowed by some bad luck. I hope not. In fact, I released my own ego and let the worry and fear go and just enjoyed the honesty and complexity of who you are speak to me. You bring those of us who love you so much light and joy! You are a gift!
    Love, Mom

  2. worry about dishes that haven’t broken yet — for some reason, this is my favorite line….

  3. oh!

    but i like cryptic! i like mystery. i like being able to superimpose my situation into my interpretation. although, i also understand the challenge of not hiding behind cryptic-ness. so i respect that, too.

    new read…

    but wait. my first read. honestly, what i left with was “abortion.” more literal, actually. the new read feels like more of a figurative abortion.

    everything leading up to the “wrapped tight…” ending does feel softer to me. feels more internal and winding and…curved. the replaying of a conversation. the “unwant hot again” felt particularly powerful. love it. love the last line. an big, giant echo.

    the dishes that haven’t broken yet reminds me of something i heard once about handling a fear of people dying…that the cup is already broken.

    i don’t know what to do with “cooperation is a choice.” i can’t figure out how to bend it into my read. i wonder if it is a specific message to someone in particular.

    i still read a violent ending.

    i think it’s the ribs face skull — that adds the edge for me. i don’t know if it’s the consonants or the imagery or both. likely both. i read that and see a face and a skull pushing through the skin around a rib cage. somewhat sinister. and then …know what i’m breaking. that’s where i feel the violence. BUT! in my read it feels necessary and powerful. not a detriment. curve curve curve wonder wonder wonder darken POW. i actually like that quite a lot.

    it reminds me of hook and eye by margaret atwood:

    you fit into me
    like a hook into an eye

    a fish hook
    an open eye.

  4. what in hell’s bells is happening over here? where are you? why aren’t you writing and posting? chop chop, lady.

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