Anyway, I asked him to help me do the convoluted thing on just a few of my poetry files. (Unless I happened to remember exactly what poem went with what title, I had no idea which things were which until we did the c.t.) That was a few weeks ago, but just now, looking through my Microsoft Word files to see what I've got for my novel, I came on this poem, which I think is kind of cool though I don't understand all of it. I think I wrote it! (There's a famous story about Anne Frank thinking she'd written a poem, and having it published in the paper, and then it was one she'd earlier learned by heart. Somebody else's. She never realized. But in this case, even though some of this poem is alien to me, there are parts of it that make me think I must have written it.)
So it's truly a found poem, a recaptured poem.
God took me to Weight Watchers.
I never in my life sat quietly for five minutes.
It hurts to do the laundry. Always snowy. I can't
get it dirty, no matter how hard I try. The back of my
hand is older than snakes. What's easy I stare
in the face. Snakes of tomorrow, snakes of Elijah, pieces
of laundry it hurts to do. Who speaks
in my voice? Who plunges into silk laundry, who takes
these lawful wedded trousers, who wears the lintfree worries?
Mud sisters. I never in my life did anything but sit
quietly. That's what got me here. I keep attempting to look
outside myself. Snakes of forgetfulness. Instead
of a snack do the laundry. What I remember with my right hand I
forget with my left. The mangoes are generally
gone by noon. Eaten. Golden. Childhood.
God took me to Weight Watchers and I'm never going home.