By Mónica de la Torre, from The Happy End/All Welcome, a collection of poetry that will be published in December by Ugly Duckling Presse. De la Torre is the author of four previous collections, two of which were originally published in Spanish.
She goes around the floor jotting notes on the chairs she sits in.
From each one her outlook is somewhat different.
The views gleaned from them are not in concert.
She has an overall picture, but it’s about to implode. Is this what people mean by “creative disruption”?
She would like to devote herself to whatever best fits her skill set.
If she stays put long enough, could she hope for an improved past, she wonders.
Yet mostly her approach is a tourist’s, however much she applies herself.
You don’t always have to return the favor, she realizes.
In general she’s not a verbalizer.
She mainly hears herself listening to or, all too often, uttering malapropisms, sometimes eagerly.
Given the vagueness of her records — has her experience been built into the design? are the stimuli interior or exterior? — she considers tinnitus as metaphor.
Yet what she gets from sitting for hours on end is tendinitis in the hip.
She goes on seeking comfort in uncomfortable chairs.
