Retired Poem

As I was working closer to completing my Discarded chapbook, the first of the poems I conceived for it were the first to go. "Totem" was written when I was still intending to focus primarily on items left behind by prior roommates. I wasn't short on, er, material, but not all of it was particularly interesting. It was much more satisfying purging myself of other people's garbage than keeping it around to dissect on paper.

The poem below, "Totem," is one of the few the early ones that survived to the point that I was comfortable showing it. For nearly three years, it was waiting to be published in High Horse, a journal that unfortunately no longer exists. Though I like it, the poem feels so distant from what I'm doing now (especially with Discarded having been published) that I'd rather retire it here than try to submit it again.


Totem

Of course the Santa doll was small enough
to fit inside the Christmas coffee mug
no one could stand to use even when in season.
Cup and doll bought in bulk, their only purpose
to be handed out like folded two-color
refreshers on Jesus to the subway riders.
The co-worker had a similar purpose,
letting everyone in the office know
she had given us thought—at least
the correct spelling of our names.
Urn of annoying family member,
keepsake from an invading army,
they stay on cupboard and bureau
in order to not upset a women
whose spoken hope to stay in touch
is actually prophetic threat
destined to be misinterpreted
and told to children, sans warnings.
Most religions begin this way.