I read Louise Glück's Proofs & Theories during the creation of this poem. The chapter "Against Sincerity" jumps out for me. I accuse myself of being overly sincere. To what end?
Time slips off
the end of my pencil
and pools. The rocket slips
off the edge of the biosphere
to cheers. We don’t know
when to stop the applause
because we are busy
glancing and darting,
slipping off to perimeters
He told me a compass would
be more valuable
than a map. While I believe him, truly
appreciate him, I concern myself
with territories. Some days I get
confused which is which is which.
I have to ask: would Sylvia Plath
spend time on Insta? Can you imagine
it? Head in the oven…
How does one ever know
when one is done?
Rebecca Frost is a somatic therapist in Minneapolis. She's taught in the Dance and Theater Dept of the University of Minnesota, The Loft Literary Center, and Shakopee Women’s Prison. Just back from the Iceland Writers Retreat, in May Rebecca served as Poet in Residence for Waterlines at the Gremlin Theater. This past year she helped conduct the workshops, Somatic Abolitionism and Toward White Fluidity for Daily Kos, a BIPOC-led nonprofit news outlet. www.embodiedarts.com