Monsters + MMoCA: A Response to Talking Continents
A compilation of poems by Monsters of Poetry, in response to Jaume Plensa: Talking Continents. Poets are Derrick Austin, Kara Candito, Nick Demske, Marcela Fuentes, Matthew Guenette, and Dantiel Moniz.
A compilation of poems by Monsters of Poetry, in response to Jaume Plensa: Talking Continents. Poets are Derrick Austin, Kara Candito, Nick Demske, Marcela Fuentes, Matthew Guenette, and Dantiel Moniz.
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<strong>Talking</strong> Poem<br />
Sometimes we mistake<br />
Grace for defiance<br />
Like holding hands<br />
It feels good<br />
Or flimsy or booms I supposed<br />
I’m undecided<br />
So for those who are undecided<br />
Who have kept open the door<br />
Been candle<br />
Or companion—<br />
Let us forget who’s in charge<br />
Let us let this night<br />
Have its way<br />
Let us break for those gone missing<br />
And for the just-released<br />
To Santiago who abhors<br />
Au<strong>to</strong>correct but when it suggests<br />
“t-shorts” for “t-shirts”<br />
He says it’s on <strong>to</strong> something.<br />
I want <strong>to</strong> linger in<br />
The list and listing<br />
The punch and the senses just after<br />
Says Emma who speaks<br />
With her hands nervously<br />
I don’t know about any of this<br />
Except thank you, yes, let us press<br />
Our palms in<strong>to</strong> flames<br />
I <strong>to</strong>o have felt<br />
Like I’m being squeezed<br />
In<strong>to</strong> some other’s maddening machine—<br />
When if ever will we be let out?<br />
Will we return<br />
To our original shapes?<br />
For those who’ve been stunned<br />
In<strong>to</strong> mistakes, in<strong>to</strong> silence or busy<br />
In<strong>to</strong> an umbrella or tiger or cricket<br />
Or dream or chase or cage.<br />
In department meetings on the backs<br />
Of memos I write “Jesus”<br />
Write “wow!”<br />
Write “I’d rather die”<br />
Then I feel better<br />
Like when I said <strong>to</strong> my daughter “If you plan<br />
To do cartwheels, please put on<br />
Some pants!” I knew I’d become<br />
My mother.<br />
We all turn in<strong>to</strong> something else<br />
So let us note which gods we descend from<br />
Or not. Let us foster and willow<br />
Let us yes yes<br />
Let us unfaze<br />
Let me tell you this: one night<br />
After dinner I got down on my knees,<br />
Cleaned barfed-up hot-dog chunks from the rug<br />
In my son’s room<br />
And knew I was lucky.<br />
Knew winter light is the most beautiful<br />
Sometimes at least<br />
To those in the midst of<br />
Or delighted <strong>to</strong><br />
To Phou in her sister’s furry moon boots<br />
She walked through the slush<br />
To be here in<br />
I’m learning <strong>to</strong> stand,<br />
Same as yesterday<br />
Trying <strong>to</strong> get better at uncertainty<br />
To those going in<strong>to</strong> the world<br />
Or coming in from it<br />
Welcome: for a short while<br />
We’ll go <strong>to</strong>gether.<br />
—Matthew Guenette<br />
MATTHEW GUENETTE is the author of three full-length poetry collections: Vasec<strong>to</strong>mania (2017, U of Akron Press),<br />
American Busboy (2011, U of Akron Press) and Sudden Anthem (2008, Dream Horse Press). He lives, works, and loses sleep<br />
in Madison, WI.