Presto Agitato is as much therapy, then, as it is a study of movement – maybe that’s because movement is therapy, to be reminded of the roots from which we grow, to be shown the magic we are. This reminder feels especially important today, in a partriachal capitalist society that insists on capital growth over personal growth, on capital growth at the expenseof personal growth. I want to weep now, thinking of the gap between human potential and what we’ve deemed as reality, as normal – this gap is an abyss I often fall into. Presto Agitato says No. She says Keep moving. She says
Maximum velocity should be your continual goal. It’s the only way to avoid the crystallization of your bones.
“The ambiguous identity of the second interlocutor lends wonderful multidimensional facets to the relationship between the text and readers. However, the absolute knowledge of the identity does not particularly matter, because the actual ignition of a self-conscious path towards meaningful responses holds more value than the means by which the speaker advances herself. The means can change, yet the journey and its lessons always remain steadfast in their consistency. Powerful writing, and the deployment of various poetic devices, with the pristine skill of a surgeon riding the high of two Red Bulls, can certainly be found in this chapbook….”
–Domenic Scopa in Misfitmagazine.net/ w/ a lovely & insightful review of my & Elizabeth Schmuhl’s collaborative book Q/A. Thank you
QA, a collaborative project by Elizabeth Schmuhl and Sarah Xerta, is a (chap)book of questions and answers. Whether to read it as poetry or prose is up to you. The authors invite readers to write their own responses to the questions posed in QA, in the space provided. Each book is assembled by hand and zigzag stitched down the spine. And the cover—made of paper pulp infused with wildflower seeds—offers yet another invitation: to plant the book and see what grows. In the dialogue in QA, Schmuhl and Xerta explore questions like “What is the center of a poem?” and “When do you feel most alive?” This work invites a discussion of “the mystery that keeps us clinging to life,” among so many other vital things. After reading QA, I made a list of questions to send to the authors, then ceremoniously planted my reading copy. What follows is our edited Q and A. —Heidi Reszies
xo
The books on mindfulness
tell me to embrace my suffering
but I don’t know how much deeper I can climb
into this black hole. Should I let the black hole
climb into me? I am trying to imagine what this looks like
and see an enormous bottle of Xanax
waterfalling down into me, poured by the
invisible hand that lives in my upper right peripheral.
Hand of doctor, hand of god, hand of savior, hand of dad.
All these man things.
Today a nurse examined my breasts
and I felt so flat beneath her hands. It’s something
I want to always remember,
though I’d like to forget the stir-ups, the enormous Q-tip
poking at my cervix Is this how it feels
for a flower to be sucked dry
is what I want to say
but I am not a flower. I am a person
stripped of her personhood
and stuffed inside a woman’s body. I am a person
with two X chromosomes
and people think this means something tangible about me.
Okay I guess I will never grow a beard on my own. How does this affect
my value as a person? Am I a woman now?
Some men can’t grow beards.
I light a cigarette
and think about all the ways to be intimate with you, all the ways
we have been intimate but not allowed
to call something other than friendship. I hear them
saying it doesn’t count unless we moan, always
they want to hear us cry.
I don’t care. I am okay with friendship. I am okay
with eating ice cream next to you
while sunlight moves through your hair,
or is it your hair
that’s moving through the light?
I can never tell, which is how
we both like it. Like this you are one
with things. Like this
you have known me.
I just want to hold your hand
in the backseat of a car
and email you photos of us holding hands
in the backseat of a car. I feel the river
coming up through me. This is me
swimming towards you,
call it breathing, call it yes.
new poem at wexarexopen.com
(via wexarexopenxyouxare)
“Do not step anywhere where mushrooms are absent. If all of the mushrooms are flat in the forest and you find yourself unable to move any further, close your eyes and concentrate on the understated rhythm of things.”