Expectations and Observations

Expectations I

Home is the place I can predict.
Away is the place I cannot.

To learn what home is, I leave.
I remind myself:
There are going to be surprises,
unexpected changes,
last-minute reshuffling of plans,
and maybe it will be good,
or possibly it will be bad,
but you certainly won’t die from it.
And then I forget
and predict the unpredictable.
I prophesy catastrophe:

I will misspell

my own name

on the customs forms,

be thrown into Irish airport jail,

never again to see the light of day.

The ATM will eat my debit card.

My purse will be stolen.

I will wander the streets destitute.

All of Ireland will have

neither restaurants nor grocery stores.

I will starve.

I will forget something

profoundly important

and expire on the spot.

A frenetic exorcism of my anxieties,

named and enumerated,

they wind themselves into a spring,

knot themselves into

the muscles of my shoulders and neck,

part of me now.

A bit of the unpredictable is diminished. 

Landing, somehow, I have not yet died
(of embarrassment,
starvation,
or heights),
been robbed,
or been voted off the island.

Away is the place I cannot predict.

Observations

Bins for recycling are not often seen.
Mail drop-off boxes are painted bright green.
Jars of nut butter are buried in stores.
Coins aren’t just change; they’re worth a bit more.
Everyone smokes; thick fumes choke the air.
Street signs are hidden; lost tourists beware.
Clothing is labeled to “KEEP AWAY FROM FIRE”.
Trash bags are strewn on the street to admire.
Drinking is legal; let the taps flow.
A butty, not a biscuit, is a breakfast to go.
No one packs water; they buy it to drink.
Hot chocolate comes with marshmallows, and they’re probably pink.

Expectations II

Among the familiar, I am a known quantity.
Everyone has already decided who I am, locked me into a box, lovingly written a label on top.
Their expectations choke, piling like stones on my chest.

Leave the place I know and am known.
Flee the familiar.

Alone and unknown, I become multiple.

I might be almost anyone:
Someone’s granddaughter
Just another lost American
Old enough to treat as an adult
Still a child
Confident and belonging
Lost and uncertain
Silent and occupied
Talkative storyteller
Awkward and ignorant
Victim of a tragic backstory
Beneficiary of a promising future

Don’t become familiar.
Once is enough.

The freedom of anonymity beckons from the crowd.

Correspondances

This is a final project I did for one of my classes last term, an illustration of Charles Baudelaire's poem "Correspondances". (Click for an alternate viewing experience.)

Stars

This is an old poem I found while cleaning out my desk.

I'm a star in the sea.
A reflection of me,
If you look way up high,
Can be seen in the sky.

I'm a star in the heavens;
I'm a star in the sea.
My twin underneath,
Is a mirror of me.

If you look down below,
If you look and you see,
There you might find,
A reflection of me.

Under sail at night,
Look out to see the sight.
You're sailing by starlight,
In a brilliance of white.

Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats

Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats was written by T.S. Eliot. It was also the basis for the musical CATS, the second longest running Broadway show.
The book is actually a collection of seventeen poems about, obviously enough, cats. I enjoyed the subject matter; I am definitely a cat person. I also liked the rhythm and the nonsensical qualities of the poetry. Some of the poems are quite accurate; cats can indeed be little beasties at times. My personal favorite poem is 'The Naming of Cats'. Other favorites are 'The Addressing of Cats' and 'Macavity: The Mystery Cat'.

"The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn't just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter,
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES."
-T.S. Eliot, 'The Naming of Cats'

"You now have learned enough to see
That Cats are much like you and me
And other people whom we find
Possessed of various types of mind.
For some are sane and some are mad
And some are good and some are bad
And some are better, some are worse-
But all may be described in verse."
-T.S. Eliot, 'The Addressing of Cats'

Note: The link to the poems only give selected portions of the poems.