It Does Matter

I sent this prose poem to a contest.  Nothing.  So I definitely need feedback.  I suspect it's too long. Does it have too many characters in it? What else? It may need to go to a mag instead of a contest? There are people who hate prose poems. I am not one of them. So I'm open to any feedback you got. I thank you!


                                  It Does Matter

 
It’s past New Year’s and Valentine’s, and we didn’t exercise
enough last year. It came on you slowly like dandelions ease
their way on the ground without a peep, then suddenly show their
yellow heads. When you walked and lifted at the gym, you could
hardly breathe after a short workout. You worried if you’d make it
to the bathroom in time. A startling thought. Your mantra changed to
“I don’t understand.” You told me about a mouse making plans and
skittering inside your ceiling and walls. Eerie. A mouse making
its own music. I watched as you started pulling cans of peaches and
beans from your pantry. That’s when the plot began to build. Then
the stench. So bad you’d cough and step outside to breathe. But you
don’t give up, do you? Not when you are close to trapping the mouse.
Once dead, you’d be able to sleep. Now, that’s a powerful payoff.
Your father would approve, right? He must have been a gentleman
and quite the problem-solver. He’s the one you talk about. His life
infected yours. Now, you are the one going back and forth to E R,
doing what he did to figure out his troubles and secure a nap.  Like the
mouse in the house, your ailment lies deep inside you. It keeps your
tummy tender and your universe torn up. How it’d likely grieve your
father if he knew what you’ve been through. Oh, you had this illness
when you were a girl? Waves and shavings of memories suddenly
flood you. Doesn’t matter—your misery has ballooned. No, it does
matter. You’ve carried more than your fair share of heavy darkness.
Your sufferings and story matter. Are you aware your energy spikes
when you talk about your father, the cows, driving the tractor? I wish
I’d known you back then. But, I’ve seen plenty to say you are a
conversation and a ray of sunshine. You want another cup of tea?

Pat

I agree. . . lots of words.

You have three "it"s in the first three lines:

Gray Matter

Two days past New Year’s and two months beyond Valentine’s . . . and we didn’t exercise enough last year. Easter passed like dandelions, without a peep and then pop-up their yellow heads.

I wonder what strength you gain by dropping "you."  Just let the narrator be guilty and with the N all of us.

I lobby for a strengthen of the prose, sentence by sentence.  Make strong, clear transitions into new topics.

After that, then think over the poem part.

Todd

I need to do a rewrite and send it back to you guys.  I love Gray Matter.  Thank you.  
More later.  Open to any other thoughts, ladies.

I changed it severely, but that does not mean it's better.  Hoping the verbs can carry it. I've been reading Charles Simic's prose poems.  More critique please.


Gray Matter

Two days past New Year’s and weeks before Valentine’s.
A few ruminations of those gone away. Not enough exercise
last year. Easter comes again like dandelions peep and pop
yellow heads. A walk, lifts at the gym. Breathless after short
workout. Wonders if there’s time to make it to the bathroom.
Home now. Recall how mouse skittered in the walls making
tiny music in the night. Next challenge: pull cans of beans and
jars of marmalade off pantry shelves. Harsh dragging sounds,
then a stench. Cough, hurry outside. Inhale, exhale, inhale, 
hold breath, go back inside. Dump baking soda in bowls to 
lessen smell. Back outside. Mull it over. Go back inside. Set trap. 
Quick sigh. Next? Spray disinfectant. Get in bed, cover head. 
Grab a nap. Third dream about Father sitting high up on the 
tractor, taking a bale of hay to cows. A life, now gone. Sigh. 
Check trap. No mouse. Walk outside, sit on steps. Watch a 
setting sun shining. Ponder the tail end of the dream. Slowly 
reel it in. Savor the tractor sounds.

Pat

I think it will help to identify the player(s) early in the prose.  What if you let the poetry come last?  Insert poetic elements in last.

I always challenge my students to ask "Is this writer a poet too?"  (Reading an excerpt from John Updike, for example)

I got turned around in this version of your poem when the narrator shifted to third person.  I like it as an internal narrative, a mind at work.

This is new ground, this prose poetry.  should be fun

Todd

Put the poetry last.  
I hear you.  Bones first. Yes, the internal workings was/is the goal.
I was focused on the verbs.
Yes, prose poems, new for all of us.
I'll get back to you. Rene and Anne, just jump right in the middle of this.
Pat

Shortened.  Just the time two women walk together at Trim Gym.

 

Gray Matter

 

A woman in her seventies walks beside her friend at Trim Gym, telling fragments about a mouse keeping her awake most of the night with its tiny gnawing. Her pantry, full of stink. If management would trap the mouse. Feels stretched to the limit. Legs run every time she goes to the bathroom. If she could just figure the mouse problem out, might help her body settle down. Glory be, her friend says something wise before they part. She can’t remember any of it.

Pat,

This is tighter.  I would be happier knowing who was speaking.  Italics can help rather than using quotation marks.

Todd

Gray Matter

 

The woman wearing a wedding band gives care to a dying husband. Her weekly treat is to walk with her friend at Trim Gym. They pace themselves. The single woman empties fragments of her sorrow—how a mouse keeps her awake most nights with tiny gnawing, how her pantry is full of stink, how her legs must run to get to the bathroom on time. She concludes, If only management would trap that blasted mouse, my body might settle down! Both look straight ahead and stay in step. Before leaving, the caregiver makes a suggestion and departs. Glory be, the one left standing knows that was a piece of wisdom. But as she steps outside, it’s gone.

Do you think all prose poems are in a box shape? I have a new anthology coming on prose poems.

I wanted to run this past you... esp. the last two lines....


Gray Matter

The woman wearing a wedding band gives care to
a dying husband. Her weekly treat, to walk with a
friend at Trim Gym. They pace themselves. The
woman living alone empties fragments of her sorrow—
how a mouse keeps her awake most nights with tiny
gnawing, how her pantry is full of stink, how her legs
must run to get to the bathroom on time. She concludes,
If only management would trap that blasted mouse, my
body might settle down! Both look straight ahead and
stay in step. Before leaving, the caregiver says, We
don’t need everything happy. Glory be, the one left 
behind knows that piece of wisdom. But as she steps 
outside, it’s gone.

Alternate for the last two lines?

behind knows that piece of wisdom. As she steps
outside, she yammers like a toddler bent on conquering
a language. We don’t need everything happy, we don’t 
need everything happy,….

I think I'm getting happy with it.  Thank you, Todd, for your help.  It was fun.  Maybe writing it all out in a line, not a block, was the greatest help, leaving out poetics. I think the natural language gives us the main poetics I needed.  Thank you for encouraging me in this process.  I nailing this down! Thanks for your patience.  


Gray Matter

The woman wearing a wedding band gives care to
a dying husband. Her weekly treat is to walk at Trim
Gym with a friend. They pace themselves. The one
who lives alone empties fragments of her own sorrow—
how a mouse keeps her awake most nights with tiny
gnawing, how her pantry is full of stink, how her legs
must run to reach the bathroom on time. She ends by
saying, If management would trap that blasted mouse,
my body might settle down! Both look straight ahead
and stay in step. Before leaving, the caregiver searches
for the right words. Actually, everything does not have 
to be happy to be fine. Glory be, the one left standing 
knows this. As she steps into sunshine, she yammers 
like a toddler bent on conquering language—everything 
does not have to be happy to be fine, everything does 
not have to be happy to be fine,….