TINA CELONA

SARATOGA
HUMMINGBIRDS, OBVIOUSLY (AND SPRINKLERS)
SANGRIA

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SARATOGA

 

In Wyoming there is a town called Saratoga where there are hot springs that are too hot to get in. No one will stop you from trying but they will watch and make comments as you attempt to submerge your body in the water that is not steaming but brown and bubbling near the sand. The men will observe that women are able to tolerate extremes of temperature whereas men will not. The women will grimly stay in the water until even they cannot bear it and they get out smiling triumphantly at the men who console each other and pretend not to care. Then everyone will take a shower. The problems they left behind will not have been solved and now there will be no avoiding them anymore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HUMMINGBIRDS, OBVIOUSLY (AND SPRINKLERS)

 

It has been threatening to rain all day—the sky is grey and moist-looking. The leaves flutter in the breezes and the grass looks exceptionally green. Someone once told me that poems have to have a “deeper meaning,” so I was thinking about what this poem should be about and what it should really be about, that is, the deeper meaning. Ostensibly it would be about me and him sitting in our yard drinking sangria and working on our laptops. But really it would be about how even though we love each other and get along most of the time there are things we worry about, particularly me, and which make things difficult sometimes. If you are someone who doesn’t read much that will probably be enough for you. You will not need to find a deeper deeper meaning. But there is one, and it is this. This poem is about poetry in general.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SANGRIA

 

If this were computer-enabled you could look more closely at the sangria. It is fortified wine, which means it contains brandy in addition to wine and as many of you know it also contains a bit of sugar and some pieces of fruit. If it is fancy it contains nectarines in addition to the usual apples and oranges. It is best to buy organic or no-spray fruit because the rinds will go in the wine mixture. But this poem is not about the sangria, it has a deeper meaning that I will tell you. Confessional poetry is not very popular right now. Transparency is also out of favor, so that if you write in a style that is invisible people will hate you. Nonetheless some people are able to get away with it, if they approach it in a way that is not naïve and that contributes something new. For instance, Lydia Davis. I think it is possible to get away with such a thing, but I would not recommend it for everyone.