Saturday, March 27, 2010

Bringing the poetry to Frost

So, I started a separate blog for my poetry (if it has not been mentioned, my education is actually in creative writing--BA in English with Writing minor, MFA in Creative Writing, Poetry concentration). But I am not dividing myself between these blogs anymore--I am going to put my life stuff, Frost on Etsy stuff, and poetry stuff all in one place--after all, these are all big parts of who I am.

Here's your first poem that has ever appeared on this blog, from my 2008 MFA manuscript.

Radio Boy

by Cyndle Plaisted Rials

Auroras don’t happen at lunch time, when your lungs
beat time against your ribs. Tattoos. The dual meaning. Let me go on
with my making up and thinking everything has more
than one. I swear it does. This phone in my pocket
is like a tunnel from your lips to my ear, always open
when it’s powered on, whether you’re really there or not. Your voice
is muffled from my pocket—I like that. Hearing you like in a close-rocked
cave, anytime, all day, your stream of consciousness out loud.
I want to hear those sudden lucky thoughts, like a little voice
in your brain, a little you sitting by a flimsy tape
set up like a reel-to-reel (thoughts are cyclical) reading
your thinking out loud—things about cat’s fur, the way you wake up
with hot fingers, what that blue car looks like in the sun. See me
making up your thoughts? But I’m not. The little you is reading
to me, running his finger along each line on the scrawled tape
to keep his place, reading fast to keep up. I hear you thinking
out loud from my pocket, that simple. At first I tried to cover
the sound with my hand. And then I didn’t care who heard.

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