Two Poems and A Tree
Ficus Elastica and An Apology
Here are two poems that I wrote while in Mexico City this past winter (2022-2023). I recently had the chance to read them to an image-text workshop I’m taking through the Downtown Writer’s Centre (online and based in Syracuse, NY).
Further below, there’s some photos, too.
Sharing these pieces to others for the first time felt good, so I sat down with them some more today. With some editing, I played around with the form of “Ficus elastica” — taking it from single-stanza, narrow-coloumn into some kind of all-over poem.
To title this poem, I had to do did a bit of research. I remember passing often a specific kind of broad-leaf tree whose name I never learn. I found this Mexico City Street Tree Inventory and, through a little digging, came across the tree of my memory: Ficus elastica, or Rubber Fig. When I read this poem to myself, my mind returned and returned to this tree’s broad waxy leaves, thick trunk and smooth bark.
These poems are still in process, but wanted to share them at this stage with you.
Here’s a photo of the first poem “Ficus elastica” to preserve format. The rest follows!
(above) Diagram of Ficus elastica retrieved from Wikipedia
(below) Frequency list of trees in Mexico City (Chacalo et al., 1994)
I don’t remember writing the next poem. It was in my notes app dated 22 January 2023 — a Thursday. After reading it at the workshop, a peer made a connection to Sokrates’ Apology, which was an apology but more of a philosophical defence and so not really an apology (in the contemporary sense of the term) at all.
An Apology
I don’t believe in teaching myself the alphabet backward I don’t believe in footprints dried in the mud I don’t believe in the myth of monsters or sharing tea with ex lovers I don’t believe in fondly revisiting the songs you saved to my phone I don’t believe in the evidence of a chance encounter unmarked by perfect coincidence I don’t believe in the kisses I left on his cheek I don’t believe in the streets laid out as a soaked net on the grass I don’t believe in the poetic language of angry men I don’t believe in the dreams I once had of him as boyfriend second or as saviour wearing designer denim first I don’t believe in broken ankles or empty texting I don’t believe in crying for specific circumstances beyond my control I don’t believe in lying to you in the words I whisper as we wait on the corner I don’t believe in the comfort of mid century furnishings or homes made without tears or boards of pine I don’t believe in waiting for him to give me the love I know I deserve I don’t believe in dragging my best self around these avenues or my shadow I don’t believe in shades of green in these january canopies I don’t believe in love untainted by the fragrances of longing I don’t believe in sweat that doesn’t taste of flesh I don’t believe in hegel, hell, or self-help anymore I don’t believe in shivering at night despite the promises of warmth I don’t believe in morning skies that don’t fade from violet to orange I don’t believe in windows I don’t believe in the future I once loved I don’t believe in the happiness of leaving or quitting or the end of days I don’t believe in going on despite myself I don’t believe in the boundaries between wants and needs I don’t believe in his right thigh curving into groin or the pubic hair peaking thru his low waisted shorts I don’t believe in centripetal force or the vertex of my whirling desire I don’t believe in the kind of death that doesn’t set a library aflame I don’t believe in the centimetre that always separates lovers called desire I don’t believe in the shallow depth of lakes or the sometimes sweet promise of a hurried end
These poems and the following photos feature in a forthcoming zine :^ )
