she is an island
begging to be a peninsula
she jumps into the pool
without looking
without noticing
there is no water
she can't love lightly
she brings it on herself
she wonders why it never works out
she can't see that she causes it
her palm trees sway
begging for attention
sheÂ’s just an island
not everyone understands
not everyone cares so much
she clasps tightly to a rose
then blames the rose
when she's pricked by the thorns
she crashes her own car
no intoxication is necessary
she says "I'm going to fall"
I say "Just don't jump"
she blames her death
on the dagger she stabs herself with
no one understands
no one will
sheÂ’s an island

11/27/2002

Author's Note: I wrote this poem an extremely long time ago. I meant to post it but there was no theme. It was just kind of... words, floating around, looking for home. So I sat for a while reading it and thinking about it, and Island came to me. It was the only way to describe her, really. I’m not usually interested in writing poems as character sketches; I generally leave that to Mrs. Hawley and Ms. Angel Esclave (and how well they do it, too!). But this one refused to be anything but. So I let her do what she needed to do and I wrote it. This is one of those weird things that make you wish you believed in reincarnation. Island, the poem, started out very general and became Island, the girl. This is her second life. And she must be Hindu or very astrologically-minded cause she’s really in touch with her last one. Is it just me or do I get to take a really enjoyable role in this poem? Usually it’s someone telling me “Just don’t jump” ... I get to be the stable one here. That’s a nice change.

Posted on 11/27/2002
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