Abecedarian
A is my sister and brother.
B is me hindered.
C was my mother before D ran off with E.
F was an instrument confiscated by customs.
G is my recommended for any alibi.
H and I are just kind of me during certain periods.
J is always there, looking over my shoulder.
K is an exception.
L was just like a starfish.
M is like N, but fatter.
O will always be my flotation device.
P is stalling at intersections.
Q went away with a new perspective.
R is the door that will not open because of some fault with the lock.
S is an areyto in the fashion of the rustics of Spain.
T was smoking at a red light.
U is our drunkenness of bodies.
V is beguiling with 30 grams of Valium.
W gasses up.
X loads up.
Y gets ready for the worse.
Z gives worser back.
| Boona Daroom |
|
levelheaded: Abecedarian
A is the speaker telling us how she is, from the beginning of the poem as in the beginning of a life, defined by familial relationships.
B is an acknowledgement of how those relationships may limit us.
C turns to past tense—murky (How was her “mother before D ran off with E”? Who are D and E?) and definite (Her mother was changed. D and E were significant.)
F thickens the plot.
G thickens it thicker.
H and I illustrate the complexity of being a multifaceted, multiselved human.
J curling calls attention to its own typography and presents the speaker’s apprehension.
K too kicks its leg out, looks remarkable unadorned.
L has us wondering who or what L was and how he, she, or it was “just like a starfish.”
M compared to N is funny.
O is what it looks like. Also, it serves to remind us that feeling keeps us afloat.
P, or sounded out “puh, puh, puh,” sounds like a car “stalling at intersections,” feels like a person hesitating to make decisions.
Q seems to have earned its uniqueness. But we can’t help but notice how the new “perspective” that’s been gained starts with the previous letter, P.
R seems central to the narrative. Its sound comes from a hard place way back in the molars. Its sense is bound up in the events from earlier in the poem. The literal and figurative door remains unopened. The fault is not just the lock’s.
T reads like a particular memory.
U injects the poem with sensuality.
V brings in the danger.
W suggests limitless possibility, a full tank and an open road. It also suggests the falsity in such optimism.
X makes us think of a gun.
Y is how, with an alphabet of burdens behind us, we try to prepare ourselves for the hurt to come.
Z is how we can never be prepared.
– The Editors
