I'm a first-year student in the MFA creative writing program at Virginia Tech. I hold a BA in creative writing from Purdue University. I'm a geek who writes poems, or a poet who is also a geek. It's up to you to decide.
All poems are copyright 2008 Josette Torres.
[This poem was drafted on paper. For me, this is simply unheard of.]
Diagnosis Via Web Quiz Does Not Exactly Qualify As “Diagnosis” Per Se
Click a button. Fill in
a circle. I am mostly
this. I am sometimes that.
Ask me to rate my current
mood on a scale, I gravitate
toward imaginary numbers.
Nowhere do I see questions
about the loss of identity
or belief in home truths.
I click and I drag and—
somehow the answer
be divined? A solution
will magically appear?
I push Submit
and the next page
loads. Refresh,
I am whispering.
Refresh.
[This poem was instigated by a poll on a private Web site of which I am a member.]
In Which I Talk About My Current Addiction By Not Talking Directly About My Current Addiction
I need it daily,I told them, but told someone
else I need it all the fucking time or I can’t
function properly. It’s like a drug. It’s my
drug. At home, in the dark, I watch shadows
crawl down the walls to touch me, lay over
my sleepy body. There’s only enough room
for one, for me, for the curve of imagination
to swing back and forth until I smooth
out. My arms drape over the edge
of the futon, empty, drifting to the floor.
Leftover traces buzz across my hands.
[I started to purge my office of paper-based detritus. One of the file cabinets had paperwork from 2004 in it. Not anymore.]
You’re So Quiet, I Wonder if You’ve Forgotten About Me
but then my phone chirps
and you’re saying those bad
things I come to expect
and I wonder if I am,
if this is habit for you now—
drive home, eat a nice dinner,
fire up the HDTV, the DVR,
the high-speed cable modem
and the Internet courtesans.
Your life is a king’s feast
of entertainment. I would peel
grapes and bring them to you
on my knees if you asked. But
you ask for more than that,
for lower than that. I am bowed
and waiting more often than
I am favored.
[The graduating MFA poets read tonight. Bob gives epic introductions, in case you didn’t know.]
My Life, Explained in Short Declarative Sentences
It’s dark. I miss you.
It’s warm. I take naps.
It’s cold. The heaters
are still on. I bought
a fan. I never did
buy a bed. I cry a lot.
I stopped crying. I met
a guy, but he’s taken.
I met a guy, but he’s
married. I met a guy,
but he’s damaged.
There are mountains.
Sometimes it rains.
The sky is black. The sky
is orange. The sky is endless.
I met a guy, but he’s a dick.
I met a girl.
Distance
Better that I’m far
away than engaged,
to be honest. Space
is at a premium,
and I’ve bought
enough to last
me years. Better
that I don’t engage,
to be frank. Reindeer
games are distracting.
I can’t control
my reactions. Hum
of cycling air dries
the sorrows I place
on the floor. Better
that I don’t dwell,
don’t linger, don’t
cross your path.
I’m like a black cat
with big tits. I’m like
a misery chick
with a doctorate
in independent living.
Approach at your peril.
[Composed on the Drillfield starting at 9:05 p.m. EDT.]
Unilluminated
A thousand points of light, his
father said. And I see them,
end over end over end. Above
my head, at my feet, flowing
past me like a new river
created from bodies. Your
body I am trying to locate,
digging everywhere.
Someone has hidden it.
I refuse to believe you
are unfindable. I refuse
to believe I have swallowed
you whole. The trample
and the silence bind us
seamless. When she said
I was a liar and a spy,
I laughed it off. Now I know
she was right.
The two journos from the previous gchat post. I broke the photo ban in Squires to take this.
[Forms were filed. Class was attended. Media inquiry was fielded. And so on.]
A Non-comprehensive List of Subjects I’m Tired of Covering in Poems
Sex. Adultery. Rape.
Depression. Literacy.
Sarcasm. Isolation.
Personal issues. Love.
Rejection. The media.
My Kindred. Weather.
Longing. Hatred.
Silliness. A sense of place.
Affection misplaced.
His weakness for blondes.
Her divisiveness. Green
grass. Black clothing.
The silence between
bodies. The words
I’m not speaking.
[I’m super frustrated and moody. You know what that means …]
You, Where Are
I wonder, I dream, I speak
of you in empty rooms, I dance
on dead grass, I cry, I sob, I bow
to others’ will, I let those who don’t
deserve it control me, I whisper,
I sing, I talk around the issue, I say
yes until everyone goes away, I lie,
I spy, I wonder where you are. I dream
you will come back. I wish
we never met.