levelheaded: Sounds like leaving

Some poems present narratives that can be put together like a connect-the-dots puzzle—1 to 2 to 3 to 4… Reading Sara Fitzpatrick Comito’s poem demands a little more work, kind of like drawing mental lines between unnumbered stars in order to find a constellation. Finding the ladle on your own is often more pleasurable than having somebody point it out; so, we’ll do our best not to stick our finger in your view.

The third-person narration of “Sounds like leaving” makes the list of images presented seem objective. This technique is significant because, keeping the poem absent of the first-person pronoun “I,” Comito allows readers to interpret the striking visuals she presents on their own, in relation to their own experiences. At the same time, her poem isn’t just a smattering of explosions. The pattern is built to look natural. Of note is the duality presented throughout. The phrase “Lutheran field” marries institutionalized religion to nature. Throughout the poem, in fact, we have these intersections. In stanza two, the colors green and gold are “pious in their plaid utility.” A stanza later, the  “beveled earth” meets the parallel lines of “corduroy.” 

After nine beautiful lines that require our focused attention to comprehend, enter man—crashing in like a beer bottle. The fact that we’re talking Budweiser and pick-up trucks lends us to believe that the underlying commentary here—if there is any—is specific to Americans. As we continue, “Silos” in the “wind” and “motor hum” trailing off “with each further hill” hark back to the paradoxical worlds touched upon earlier. Whether or not we realize it, Comito’s consistent reporterly style has an enormous impact on the poem’s close. The final couplet—which bears the author’s most blatant attempt at imparting wisdom—presents itself as simply another fact to consume.

– The Editors