Sigrid Bermuda [tentative title]

[Teratogen]

A note before reading: Yes, this poem is very long. It is a true story.

Sigrid Bermuda [tentative title]

Curled up in a ball,
The poor fetal thing clung to itself,
Frightened,
Mistaking its shortcomings as a mouse
For the world it was to inherit
Underneath a small projection at the substructure
Of a cement encasement
Around a garbage can
Outside of a chain drug store
Where I work and where I found him.
His tail blotched; his fur dirtied; his legs unable to support him;
His superb cunning to endure, lost
At the core of his panic:
Somewhere an owl perched in wait.
And though his eyesight was pitiable,
His nose and his ears delivered the evidence
That needed no eye see.
“Come, child,” I spoke,
And gave its ill and meager body
A shaded place to rest;
Surely I was troubled
To see a stranger suffer,
And in empathy for the greater virtue
That this creature’s distress came undeserved,
I questioned just what it was
That the meek were to succeed to.
I wondered what Sigrid Bermuda would have done.

I asked her to tell me something pleasant
That day that followed,
As I prepared to face the cruelty
We all work so hard at disregarding
By keeping productive and industrious
With something more than nothing
To compensate.
She spoke of foggy mornings,
Sitting in her backyard drinking coffee,
Watching woodpeckers in the trees.
Sigrid Bermuda, with her three dogs
And two cats
And a classroom of children to prepare for,
Sits in her backyard
In the foggy mornings
Drinking coffee
And watching woodpeckers.
It makes her happy.

Should we cultivate our lives and inherit such a world,
Reaping the seeds we sow,
Trusting that the ones before us
Fertilized a sense of happiness
To nurture and to impart,
Just how much can the fear in our timid hearts last?
Nearly thirty years of darkness
As sustenance
We shared unaware,
The horrors of a barrenness
Overpopulated with weeds;
In time we find its beauty,
But I aimed to change the world.
I aimed
To change the world
That day I made the decision
To see her in her habitat.

Maybe I just wanted to view Paradise;
I simply looked around to view it.
Headlong I leapt
Into the mystic;
I said,
“This must be the place.”

I became very quiet,
I listened to the sound—
Music from the room:
Delight on the rhythm,
Enchantment playing lead,
Fascination on the bass,
Attraction beat the drums,
Charm performed a glissando on the keys,
A frenetic magnetism worked a solo on the sax
That really put me beside myself,
And a fadeout segued between
Magic and science—
The latter of which,
On her comfortable couch,
I became every kind of matter known to.

I’ve always believed in beauty,
Not merely the circumstances of beauty;
As if I needed a reason, I had them all:
Sigrid in the misty mornings…

But lo! a blue moon yonder—
O, wilt thou my courage bring
To not this ev’ning squander
Such a wonderful new thing?
The tree began to ponder
Sap on both sides of the swing;
My mind embark’d to wander
Straight into the heart of Spring.

And there, as crickets as my witness,
Before the earwigs and daddy long-legs,
A skinny oak tree stem spectator,
Dried-up leaves as my audience,
The night as my stage,
The curtains
Had been closed on my confidence;
What mystery
I once maintained with an edge,
As a being of reasonable worries,
Vanished in the blink of an eye—
I blinked, I blinked, I blinked again—
I gave up on my pride and,
Lost to the walkway, the potted plants and the creaking front door,
My invulnerability dissolved.
Beyond my own control,
As it happened, almost rather so simply and without fuss,
Only lucidity
Remained to remind me:
This is not a dream.
As if I needed a reason, I had them all.

We shared a plate of sweet and sticky rice
With mango slices and coconut milk
At her favorite Thai food restaurant
And I recalled the sermon
She translated from the scripture
About intentions;
The sin to be committed, even in this here poetic sentiment,
Could be punishable by her judgment,
For what was I to be if not exclusively
A friend?
But the wind may cry blasphemy
As often as the seasons change
And either we may burn these bibles together
Or I shall be excised from Paradise.

In that fragile moment,
Comparing hand sizes and their awkward characteristics,
A connection had been kindled—
She threw me her infinite jest
And I put on display
My one hundred years of solitude;
Her like an open wound,
Me like the open sea,
Encouraged to explore the salty residues:

Let us hike up to that bunker
To await the rebirth of the Third Reich
And justify the fortune in my cookie
That read, “Soon you will make someone happy,”
And we will spend eternity armed with something so fierce,
Fugitives of ferocity,
Discovering, discovering, discovering
Your talents in nature,
My talents in fear;
We will shave our legs and bear the cold,
Swimming across the Baltic among torpedoed shipwrecks,
Where renegades made pacts with death.
We, the eldest children,
Like dogs with ticks in our ears,
Grizzly and gnarly,
Reassuring each other with smiles
That deafen the din of screaming agonies—
The agonies of every insecurity.
We will go camping in our discoveries;
Children in the morning—every morning a fresh breath,
Calm before the storm of adventure—
Made with unyielding resolve
To stare down precarious owls in the street.
I will be the fear of all this danger
And the refuge to the fear.
I will be the doubt, the guilt, the burden
And the comfort of their demise.
I will be the snow
Submitting to your campfire,
The leaf upon your hair,
The speck upon your cheek,
The weeds in your backyard,
The woodpeckers in your tree,
Believing in beauty,
And not merely the circumstances of beauty.

As if I needed a reason, I had them all:
Sigrid drinking coffee
In the misty, foggy mornings…

I have some terrible news to tell myself;
How should I break it to him?
This can’t be good for your health…
I responded,
“I’ve never been one to care about my health.”
You should have known that this was going to happen,
The day you made the decision
To see her in her habitat
And lock your eyes to hers.
“I felt compelled once before…”
You felt compelled once before—
That was when you first spoke to her—
But now…
“But now I’m going to change the world.”

I slapped my forehead as I got in my car to leave that night,
Just after bestowing upon her
A mess of fumbled words
And an oversized stuffed dog—
A gift for her birthday;
Somewhere I had revealed
That it had no use to me,
When I meant to really say
That it had only waited its entire life
For this moment to arrive,
Just to be squeezed in her embrace.
As if I needed a reason, I had them all:
I had found a benevolent hand
To rest upon its weary head
And a home
For its stray sense of longing.
Sigrid Bermuda, who, with her two cats
And three dogs,
Her roommates, her siblings, her friends,
Her backyard full of weeds
And trees with tenant woodpeckers
Accepted the oversized stuffed dog
With a smile.

Believing in beauty
And not merely the circumstances of beauty,
I drove home that night and I thought only of her.
I forgot to thank her.
I tried to watch a movie about angels in Berlin, but I only thought of her.
I went to sleep early that night,
And when I woke up in the morning I turned off my alarm and saw the sun
And it made me think of her.
I had a cup of coffee and it made me think of her.
I listened to some psychedelic soul on my drive to work and it made me think of her.
I saw a lot of people in good moods that day and it made me think of her.
I finished a book on my lunch break that she had recommended to me
And, of course, it made me think of her.
I tried counting a bundle of money and it made me think of her.
So I had to count it again.
I bumped my elbow on the wide, solid metal door of the safe and it made me think of her.
There was a duet playing on the radio with Stevie Nicks and Don Henley,
And yes, it made me think of her.
I got home that evening and my dog jumped up in excitement to see me
And it made me think of her.
I watched a program on the television and enjoyed my food,
But it made me think of her.
I didn’t get much sleep, but I slept rather soundly,
And I awoke too early for my liking, but it was okay
Because I was thinking of her.
I was in a foggy haze
That misty morning with my coffee
And it lasted all day at work—
Happy, wondrous, childlike—
Because I was thinking of her.

As I left work to go home,
Curled up in a ball,
The poor fetal thing clung to itself,
Frightened,
Mistaking its shortcomings as a mouse
For the world it was to inherit
Underneath a small projection at the substructure
Of a cement encasement
Around a garbage can
Outside where I found him.
I wondered what Sigrid Bermuda would have done.

My friends picked me up and we went to a concert
Where a pop culture legend made the entire arena dance
And, during a song about a little red Corvette,
I had only wished that she 2 could b here 4 the party.

Maybe it’s a sense of loneliness…
But I’ve experienced enough of it to know that it can no longer destroy me.
Maybe it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy…
But in the past those had always seen me at the end of perceived failure.
Maybe I’m just seeing more than there really is to see…
And she would have me believe that,
But I believe in beauty,
Not merely the circumstances of beauty.
Maybe she’s not seeing enough…
And with her two cats and three dogs and backyard full of weeds,
Her siblings and her roommates and her friends,
All the men that had been relegated to checkmarks
On a list that made her feel unworthy of a sensible companion,
As if she needed a reason, she had them all.
Maybe she just wants to add me to that list…

But right under our noses
At this unexplor’d frontier
The scent of Spring proposes,
Whence its beauty didst appear:
Tho’ many a door closes
At the chance to it revere,
Don’t let all the dead roses
Stop a new blossom thro’ fear.

If she thinks at all that I am easy to talk to,
That I have never judged her,
That I have a grand understanding of people
And of the world—
The world in which I aimed to change—
And if she believes
That I at least know anything of which I speak,
Then perhaps she too will understand.
For if I needed a reason, I had them all,
And perhaps someday she will want to know them.

I thought of her again that night,
Home from the concert,
Where she spoke to me about
A crossword puzzle—
I thought of her sitting with me
In her Shiba inu socks,
Throwing around stories of her ex-boyfriends,
Trying to make jealous
Their defeated spirits
That she was hanging out with me now.
She spoke of things to do on Groundhogs Day,
Disliking birthdays,
Showed me pictures of her brother
And a mess of dog fur hidden behind the couch,
And she got up to admire through the sliding glass door window
A woodpecker in the backyard tree.
I saw her smile, and right then so did the world,
And the world slowed down to look,
Having to stop and take it in,
Absorbing all its beauty
And not merely the circumstances of its beauty,
And as if it needed a reason right then it had them all;
Its jealousy enfolded, its nighttime still and graceful,
It knew it had to continue moving,
Unable to take her smile with it.
It looked at me and nodded,
Bringing me to recall
Those days of chance I’d see her walk into my store,
Not a word spoken between us,
And the days of chance I’d see her with her friends
Walk past me back in high school,
Not a word spoken between us,
But a glance, a glance, a glance exchanged
Where oft I would pretend
That my adolescent world of doom
And darkness in my heart
Would be the only shelter from self-pity.
She stole away a moment and walked into the kitchen
And I heard her faintly break into song.
I knew then that she too
Wanted to change the world.

I haven’t found the cure to combat boredom,
But I’ve found the cure to combat aging:
Aging alongside a companion in beauty,
Which may even in itself attempt to combat boredom;
I will freeze and melt and evaporate again,
Plasmatic on her comfortable couch,
Where I may begin to resemble Picard
With his Earl Grey, hot,
And Sigrid like the groundskeeper at the Starfleet Academy,
Teaching me everything there is to know
As she tends to the blossoms
And the skinny oak tree stem
And the new plant she bought that I would absolutely
Wish to have the benefit of seeing grow.
Maybe I could even
Assume the role of a teacher
And teach her a thing or two
About my cure to combat aging,
Though I wonder if it will compel her
To wish to buy me Rogaine,
That is, should I begin to resemble Picard.

And for all that it’s worth,
Sigrid Bermuda sits at the senate,
Enumerating her innumerable talents
Discovered in nature
Despite the circumstances of beauty,
Overseeing her two cats and three dogs,
Her siblings, her roommates, her friends,
Her ex-boyfriends and her classroom
Of children that adore her,
And she recounts to me a pleasant scene:
Sitting in her backyard
In the foggy mornings
Drinking coffee and watching
The woodpeckers in the tree.

The little mouse died on Easter Sunday morning,
And the news of its death
Gave me a sobering vision
Of the doom and darkness
In my adolescent heart.
I wondered again what Sigrid Bermuda would have done,
As it followed that someone
Had dumped its corpse
In the cement encased garbage can
Outside of the chain drug store
Where I work and where I found him.
I wandered silent through the store
Until I came into the backroom
Where I sat in silence
With my head in my hands,
And I questioned just what it was
That the meek were to succeed to.
And as if I needed a reason
To believe in all the beauty,
With great childlike vitality,
Aloud I spoke, “Woodpecker,”
And got up to change the world.

[Teratogen]

I realize not a lot of people are willing to sit through this. I believe I've written an engaging, true story. It is very personal to me, and to the title character, whose name has been slightly altered, though I have not let her read this yet. Nearly everything in this has to do with half a day I spent with her, the rest being made up of the few days that followed and many other conversations we had.

Edits and partial re-writes are already in progress, but I don't know that, given the circumstances of truthful accounts, there will be any serious or heavy-duty re-writes happening.

[Cate]

Hi Jason - I had started to comment before but lost my comments when my battery died - usually it gets someplace ... but nope - gone.

I like the title and the name given to the lead lady.

Parts that I liked/that stood out for me

"Sigrid Bermuda, with her three dogs
And two cats
And a classroom of children to prepare for,
Sits in her backyard
In the foggy mornings
Drinking coffee
And watching woodpeckers.
It makes her happy."


"I listened to the sound—
Music from the room:
Delight on the rhythm,
Enchantment playing lead,"


"I’ve always believed in beauty,
Not merely the circumstances of beauty;
As if I needed a reason, I had them all:
Sigrid in the misty mornings…
"

"We shared a plate of sweet and sticky rice
With mango slices and coconut milk"

(the fortune cookie)

"As if I needed a reason, I had them all:
Sigrid drinking coffee
In the misty, foggy mornings…"


"I heard her faintly break into song.
I knew then that she too
Wanted to change the world."

"I will freeze and melt and evaporate again,
Plasmatic on her comfortable couch,
Where I may begin to resemble Picard
With his Earl Grey, hot,
And Sigrid like the groundskeeper at the Starfleet Academy,
Teaching me everything there is to know"

General comments for now - perhaps more focus on Sigrid and N. by minimizing some of the Narrators more philosophical thoughts
- dividing the poem into sections, a series of smaller connected poems

Somewhere I had revealed
That it had no use to me,
When I meant to really say
That it had only waited its entire life
For this moment to arrive,

ahh that's nice
don't assume you got it wrong though - what did you really say?
words really mean so little - did you smile when she hugged it, did you you slightly shrug when you gave it ... was your voice soft, did you shift your weight or drop your eyes for a moment - did you give the dog a little scruff or pat once it was in her arms. Don't worry about gifts Jason - if you are pleased for her to have something she'll pick up on it.

[Teratogen]

I didn't think structure was important to me until I began a few edits and realized that if there was something I wanted to add it had to be placed precisely so. I've read this over and over and over and, in my head, as I recall the events playing out, the structure is perhaps too perfect. And as far as the ratio of actual events to "philosophical thoughts," it's already about 80-20. Some of the "philosophical thoughts," especially like that verse that begins "Let us hike up to that bunker..." are words, expressions, sayings, and topics of conversations we had--edited only in a prose poem format. A lot of things that were not even spoken between us were slight details... but I strongly argue that slight details are of the utmost importance.

If it makes it easier to read along I can outline the couple of days that this poem covers: Day 1, we hang out; Day 2, I am ecstatic (this is the day I recount the things that made me think of her); Day 3, still thinking of her...; Day 4, I work early, find the ill and injured mouse, go out to concert with friends, come home later that night and talk to her for a few minutes, but I began to grow restless and think about negative things; Day 5, Easter Sunday, I wake up depressed, ask her to tell me something pleasant because I don't want to go to work, but I go, of course, and find out the mouse has died. This is when I felt I had to write something to get it out of me, and it took me 3 or 4 days.

As you can see, nearly everything you've read involves events from Day 1, which include "focus on Sigrid and N."

I hope this may help to explain a few things.

[Cate]

yes thank you Jason,
small or slight details are usually the most interesting especially if you focus in on that small detail and let us see something that we might have missed.

Some of the "philosophical thoughts," especially like that verse that begins "Let us hike up to that bunker...

For me this 'thought' works as it has a visual aspect to it that keeps a reader in the poem and if it was something that was discussed then it of course has extra importance.

[Teratogen]

Thank you.

I am to see her again very soon... but I am freshly aware that she has been seeing someone on occasion who she is likely interested in. I am not sure how to handle this.