Ars Poetica: Getaway Car

By JEN JABAILY-BLACKBURN

Telekinesis stories are the girliest stories because they don’t stop
at The Body. They say your borders are so made up. Girlhood is more
than ovaries tossing replica moons at the feet of The Moon.
Our home address is a syntax that serpentines like a mouse
attempting to cross, unperceived, the grandest of ballrooms.
That’s us, always leaping into the getaway car of daydream,
lit up lavender & tangerine. We are dancing with our mouths
like no one is listening because no one is listening but us.
It’s the wild freedom of silly gooseness, feathers to cushion being told
you’re useless, repeatedly, while still being used for everything. It’s waiting
in the waiting room’s washed-out light thinking I am
an exhausted mine. No matter how much care you pour into it,
The Body’s narrative is betrayal. This expirational thing.
Do you really want us to end there?

 

[Purchase Issue 30 here.]

 

Jen Jabaily-Blackburn is the author of Girl in a Bear Suit and works as the program and outreach coordinator for The Boutelle-Day Poetry Center at Smith College. Originally from Braintree, Massachusetts, she now lives in Easthampton, Massachusetts, with her family. For more, find her at JenJabailyBlackburn.com

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

Ars Poetica: Getaway Car

Related Posts

Sasha Burshteyn: Poems

SASHA BURSHTEYN
The slagheap dominates / the landscape. A new kurgan / for a new age. High grave, waste mound. / To think of life / among the mountains— / that clean, clear air— / and realize that you’ve been breathing / shit. Plant trees / around the spoil tip! Appreciate / the unnatural charm! Green fold, / gray pile.

New York City skyline

Lawrence Joseph: New Poems

JOSEPH LAWRENCE
what we do is // precise and limited, according to / the Minister of Defense, // the President / is drawing a line, // the President is drawing / a red line, we don’t want to see 

rebecca on a dock at sunset

Late Orison

REBECCA FOUST
You & I will grow old, Love, / we have grown old. But this last chance // in our late decades could be like the Pleiades, winter stars seen by / Sappho, Hesiod & Galileo & now by you & me.