A published writer advised;
“Don’t write about yourself,
you sound like a teenager crying over spilt milk.
Write observations, things outside of you,
or poetry becomes selfish and inward,
and nobody wants to hear a person’s thoughts anymore.
The formula, it’s all in the formula.
You get it right, you have it, you sell it.”
She’s even in bookstores that don’t have poetry sections
inspiring fledgling poets, who
write about things outside themselves,
in neat obedient mixed-shake-formula.
Sometimes at night, when trains go by,
I think about what she said;
If I can see in the dark
I walk outside and look up at the sky,
bigger than me, a thing outside myself;
and next time I write;
“I saw the moon, it made me think of sadness. It made me remember things inside myself and they rolled over like mice in a wheel
straining for speed.”
I think owing to this,
my books won’t have pretty covers
won’t move a generation
the moon will continue to reflect thoughts inside to without and that’s just how it is
when trains wake you at night
pursuing different tracks.
Candice Daquin is a French-born psychotherapist, writer and dancer living and working in America.