It’s Ok, You Couldn’t Have Known

It’s Ok, You Couldn’t Have Known

First the baby T. Rex, little guy,
raising his head to look around
Dinosaur Hall, and then at you.
He’s only two. Can’t know where
he is, who he could have been.
The teenager and the momma
Tyrannosaurus rouse next,
shake their heads like wet dogs.
Steel poles bend and snap,
and the bones move, bodies
again. Here comes Stegosaurus,
cantering along the tiled floor,
creaking when he stops (out
of habit) for a breather. Quilts
of prehistoric dust unfold
above you. Nothing is on fire.
Dino Hall is quiet, save for
bone on bone, bone on tile,
bone clattering against the
walls. No alarms. Allosaurus
skidding by, eying Spike.
No, you aren’t safe. But where
are you going to go, when
the dinosaurs wake up. Poor
things don’t know they aren’t
dinosaurs anymore, that
they’re full of holes, that outside
these walls they will not know
where the land they once slept on
went, where the world has gone.

The Painting Speaks to You

The Painting Speaks to You

Thank you for coming
tonight to watch the kids,

there’s money for pizza
in the kitchen, bedtime

is 10:30, don’t let them
just wet their toothbrushes

to pretend they’ve brushed,
please watch them brush,

what else am I forgetting,
I want to make sure you

know everything you need
to so that you’re all safe

and happy, so that you
all grow up and feel at least

three versions of love.
I wish I didn’t have to

leave, but since I do, know
how much you mean to me,

and remember to wear gloves,
and go to the dentist, and say

thank you to your teachers and
be kind to those who are strange

or in pain, for once you were
or will be strange in a land

unfamiliar to you. There is
so much to say in limited

space, you’ll need to say
these things to your children

also, and to the sitters looking
after your children that you must

speak to about the children
they are caring for, tonight

or in fifty years or in
a thousand years.

On Creativity: Titles

My poem yesterday, “Still Life with Lit Dynamite,” got me thinking about the importance of titles. I was thinking about how dependent that poem is on the title. I started wondering, what percentage of a work’s overall meaning does a title carry?

Naming a project always helps me to begin it (it seems attached to the same reason that I love a good theme). For instance, the local reading series that I run is called “Paging Columbus.” It goes beyond my love of the pun--finding precise words to describe my intentions makes me feel more creative.

My blog is another example. The idea for it came after staring at The Sartorialist’s site (repeatedly, for many hours!). The word “story” came to my mind while I was imagining backstories for the people in his photos. It was funny....I remember thinking that a poetry companion site to The Sartorialist called The Storialist was so OBVIOUS. I googled a bit to see if anyone else had created that already (what a strange thought, in retrospect!).

I don’t always title my poems before writing them. Sometimes, I think of the title after (usually, it’s that feeling that I mentioned before--that the title is so obvious to me, is so clear). But I am always curious about those artists who do not title their pieces (although “Untitled” can be a title, I guess). The funniest is “Untitled” with a very specific parenthetical after it....like “Untitled” (Queen of the Jellybeans) or “Untitled” (after Oscar the Grouch).

Let me ask you: how do titles function in your creative projects? When, in your process, do you decide upon them? How do you know the right title? What makes a good title? (Feel free to link to your work.)