A Poem by Anon ymous, Occupy Chicago Poetry
Nuestra primera noche juntos, la luna es tímido,
las estrellas se convierten en nuestros manta.
Los cambios de voz como usted están a punto
de quedarse dormido.
Ask me. Anything. Every lie has already
been spent. I am from the North Country.
Used to cold shoulders and winds that tame
blue waters. There was homemade soda pop
and ice cream freezers. Rubber band guns;
warm, sweet beer and dust from rusty rails
on the bottom of our shoes. There was Deb,
Teresa, a transfer student named Magdalena,
Julie, Julia and Liz. 99 lines for 35 women.
It was the end of the line. The beginning
of time. Fell in love. She had small breasts,
artist hands. She loved spring, played soccer.
Told me I was a river. She wanted to paint.
Felt boxed in. I promised to round the sharp
edges. Took my ’70 Impala to the skyline,
made out by the reservoir. Locked ourselves
out one night. Late for curfew. Even after
breaking the wing window and doing ninety
down Becks Road. One summer in a St. Paul
park she found a stray dog. Spackled white
with one ragged ear. Took it home. We broke
up three months later. Told me I had made
a habit of losing her. She couldn’t hold on to
shadows and broken lines. She has a husband,
two boys, a dog named Otto. Paints still life,
writes true stories. Loves yellow crocuses.
There’s a brown bird, sits outside our window.
Tilts his head at the string of paper butterflies
that flutter from the ceiling. We are a secret.
We are a mournful song. We are the same
no longer; we are sea-washed and new.
Our first night together, the moon is shy,
stars become our blanket. Your voice changes
as you are about to fall asleep.
MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE
The poems presented here constitute an original work and are part of a new initiative: Message in a Bottle.
The idea is basic: anyone who would like to join can send a poem, poems or collection to poetanony@gmail.com. Once it is recieved it will be submitted to blogs, ‘zines and journals. The same bio and mission statement is sent but depending on the poet the city/country will change.
Submissions are “blind” in the sense that a person who submits will never know where the poem is being sent or where it is posted or published. The hope is we can build a mailing list of subscribers for a monthy “Anonymous Poem” newsletter and also perhaps a Blog/Website of our own as well.
POET ANON
A resident of Chicago, Poet Anon says: You are encouraged to use this work in any way you see fit. Steal it, borrow it, take parts and make something new, rearrange it, riff on it, send it out over the internet, blog it, post it on telephone poles, throw it away. There is no copyright, no expectation of credit. Poetry should be free.)