The Woman I Am Not

just whining a little!

The Woman I Am Not

 

I asked for a cord of wood, but he brings the small pickup.
It is half full and heavily filled in with spruce.
I still have the remains of the apple tree that died
and may use the spruce anyway, after it has dried.
There are two bags of kindling left from the construction site.
There are two crazy heaters that might still work or light.
I am a little tired of burning things or maybe I am tired
of the uncertainty of my decisions on all these mannish jobs.
Tired of suggestions on how to pry up planks.
Exhausted with light fixtures I cannot pry loose.
The way one shutter hangs lopsided halfway off the house.
I am even weary of the hauling off of trash,
to the landfill behind the dog pound, where the dogs stand
or sleep, rejected by the people they had hoped to keep.

But I am warm in many ways in an optimistic craze.
I love the early morning and the window's prism lights.
The rumor of fall winds bringing wild geese and color.
The plummet of rain on the old barn's tin.
I love a million lovely things, but I need a hired hand.
One that knows the difference in good wood and green.
One that knows my genius doesn't lie in wiring things.
Instead I have a lot of friends, and I still make them laugh
at the oddity of my ideas of fixing up the place.
I told them that the jungle grass & overwhelming trees
grew there because I have a yearn to carve a natural theme.
I told them that the kitchen light is brighter without a cover.
I told them that I wished to give the unhung door more study.
And who knows, maybe laughter, is what really makes things pretty.

Reviews

[Marie Anzalone]

Homesteading is hard work... whoever said otherwise obviously never tried it. Well-meaning friends aside, it is not whining to admit when you are feeling overwhelmed. It is so delightful to read the words of a woman who is wresting the things of this earth into a dream worth living... and remembering to examine and live in the dream itself while doing it.

The Japanese I think understand what it is like to embrace the imperfect- they even coined a beautiful term for it, "Wabi-sabi", The love of the imperfect. For when we can accept rusty hinges and broken heaters and our fears about self-immolation if we light up the wood stove, with grace, we can also our own imperfections with a state of grace and sublime humor.

[JohnL]

The picture your words paint are of a delightfully feminine woman with a house problem and the type of friends good for the spirit but not for the practical aspects of living that you so wonderfully describe.
'But I am warm in many ways in an optimistic craze.
I love the early morning and the window's prism lights.
The rumor of fall winds bringing wild geese and color.
The plummet of rain on the old barn's tin.
I love a million lovely things, but I need a hired hand.'
Your description above of surroundings and atmosphere is so enticing and the career opportunity so tailor made - I am an electrical engineer who's hobby is carpentry - that I almost hopped onto the next plane!
There is a happiness despite the problems which shines through these lines - but perhaps I'd better leave the plane - it might not be a real house and the problems may just be in the script. Your every light may glitter and all your wood be dry for burning and well seasoned for building. However, if the the shutter really hangs loose, lean out, watch the wonder of morning and listen to the chatter of the flying geese.
I love this poem,
John

[Ed Hart]

of course, this is the woman that you are...don't make your hiding places out of clear glass...

[W.k.kortas]

Someone, I forget who, once said "Life is just one damn thing after another." This piece acknowledges the primacy of the blown fuse, the worn tire, the poorly-timed huge expense, but the second stanza is all about embracing life in spite (perhaps even because?) of all that. Perhaps Venablese isn't just a brand of imagistic language, it's a philosophy.

[Jibey]

Lovely capture of the irritation of small things and the drag of the daily grind - but then beautifully lightened up by your quirky likes and the simple enjoyment of 'the plummet of rain on the old barn's tin'. The detail was so good; the sense of you permeated every word. Thank you.

[Hedra Helix]

I agree with emily, your whines are really really pretty. Beautiful moving visual feast.

[Benjamin L. Weekly]

Great job this is like prose poetry, easy to read, easy to understand and feel. The sad thing is I'm a guy and I think I'll probably be the same way when I get my own place. I have no clue.

What makes the poem work is that you move quickly from line to line, bring in lots of different scenes and images, and are consistent with emotion. Great job I"m off to read more I think.

[Emily B]

I am not that woman, either. You say it so prettily, it doesn't even sound like a whine. . . there is special light in your smile. That will keep you warm on winter days, no matter if the woodpile is a little green :)