Met with Kathleen today. She loved my poem that I turned in last week, the one without a title. She even read it in class with four other poems that wowed her this week. We talked about my writing lately and how it’s changing and I have to let it, even if that means turning away from how I used to write. She asked about “what happened,’ and I told her — very briefly — about S, about the drama, the child, the pain, how he is with me when I write. She talked about James Galvin telling her about the listener, and to make S my listener, always.
So, I’m working on a memoir, a memoir about relationships and sex and love, a memoir about letting people go to let other people in.
Last night, listening to Pete Yorn’s “On Your Side,” I wrote chapter 16, set in November-December 2004.
This morning while making AJ breakfast, I played the same song via YouTube because it was stuck in my head. I picked up AJ and danced with him — as I often do — cheek to cheek to this song that I used to listen to on dark nights when I was in dark places, all alone.
Writing the S poems makes me feel like a bad wife. How to produce art without thinking of one’s reality. Wondering how this thesis will get finished. Just hoping I like it.
(Note: These are initial notes for my book. This is very rough, first-draft material. How writers work. It embarrasses me to publish this, because it’s so raw. But the purpose of this project is to be real and open and not hold back. Just keep in mind that it’s rough.)
Here’s a moment:
An August morning, the air condition providing us with the only cooling. You say, “I love you” as you leave my apartment after a random reunion night together.
(It’s the last time I saw you.)