The doll told me
to exist.
It said, “Hypnotize yourself.”
It said time would be
transfixed.
*
Now the optimist
sees an oak
shiver
and a girl whiz by
on a bicycle
with a sense of pleasurable
suspense.
She budgets herself
with leafy
prestidigitation.
I too
am a segmentalist.
*
But I’ve dropped
more than an armful
of groceries or books
downstairs
into a train station.
An acquaintance says
she colors her hair
so people will help her
when this happens.
To refute her argument,
I must wake up
and remember my hair’s
already dyed.
*
As a mentalist,
I must suffer
lapses
then repeat myself
in a blind trial.
I must write
punchlines only I
can hear
and only after
I’ve passed on
Rae Armantrout, “Veil” from Veil: New and Selected Poems. Copyright © 2001 by Rae Armantrout. Reprinted with the permission of Wesleyan University Press.
Source:
Veil: New and Selected Poems (Wesleyan University Press, 2001)
Rae Armantrout, one of the founding members of the West Coast group of Language poets, stands apart from other Language poets in her lyrical voice and her commitment to the interior and the domestic. Her short-lined poems are often concerned with dismantling conventions of memory, pop culture, science, and mothering, and these unsparing interrogations are often streaked with wit. “You can hold the various elements of my poems in . . .
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