This is the first poem I’ve written in more than 15 years. I wrote it for a poetry workshop I’m taking at UNLV, as a graduate assistant in the MFA creative writing program. (My concentration is fiction, but we have to take some poetry classes, too.) The theme of the workshop is the “immediately accessible sublime” or, as I simply interpret it, that which is near and dear.
This is the second draft. The teacher Donald Revell and my remarkably talented classmates provided plenty of feedback, a lot of which I incorporated into the poem.
Breaking and Entering
Standing on the sidewalk
Screaming
Half English, half Farsi
Her refuge
Shattered
Interior lights on
Porch light off
The door splintered and ajar
Faceplate and screws
Sprawled across the floor
The scene is secured
Doors and drawers dusted
She enters
Past a palm print black on white
In the squad car
The officer asks questions
Despondent she responds
He pecks an antiquated computer
While reading aloud
“The victim stated that the jewelry
Was given to her
By her grandmother in Iran”
They leave us alone
Noticing a painting
She no longer likes
She observes
They never take what you want them to
With ink-stained hands
We push the suddenly mobile
Media center
Against the door
Drag the mattress into the living room
Everyone’s a suspect
The neighbor, the FedEx guy, the security guard
Finally a kiss good night
Then with all the lights on
We lie down and act like we’re asleep
