May as well begin with one about myself. The first of these was written about a picture of me; the second is my response to it.
Untitled, written by Rachel McCauley in response to a picture of me
I called her Gretchen
When I think of you, first I think of your autumn coloured sweater,
and then of Thailand, and how colourful it must be there.
And I wonder that I was afraid of you,
and wonder what I know of you,
and I smile, because you said my poetry made you happy,
Like the smell of sharpie markers.
I want to ask some days
“Is that pain behind your eyes”
and “do you really think my poems are good”
and “do you think in poetry”
but mostly I want to know if you mind if I walk with you for awhile
You walk cold bridges
over icy water, through
shadows. To where?
I mostly think in poetry when I think of you
And yes I think your poems are good
And to think about what you wonder
And that I am afraid of me
As far as to what I know of me
The pain behind my eyes, you weren’t supposed to see
I am a medley of things to many different people
All under another name
To you, I’d like to still be that warm,
That made you happy
And as to our walk together
Yes, I’d like that.
I cross cold bridges
over icy waters, through
shadows. To where you ask?
To warm them, melt them, show them my light