Transcript
A (0:00)
Once upon a time, Amazon Music met audiobooks, and listeners everywhere rejoiced. Oh yeah, because now they could listen to one audiobook title a month from an enormous library of popular audiobook titles, including Romantasy, Autobiographies, True Crime, and more. Suddenly, listeners didn't mind sitting in traffic or even missing their flight. Amazon Music Unlimited now includes Audible Download, the Amazon Music app. Now to start Listening Terms apply What's up? It's major. Today's episode is hosted by Poet and Slowdown producer Micah Keelbaun. Don't worry, I'll be back on November 25th.
B (0:48)
I'm Micah Kielbaun, and this is the Slow I've been trying to change my relationship to some of my memories, mainly those tied to situationships, to the fits and starts of love. I've been mostly single in my adult life, continually falling into what I believe is love, only to feel like I'm having the rug pulled out from under me. I have experienced a whole lot of life, and romance only forms threads of that life, woven into all the other moments. The threads are often short. They have loose ends. I've always been jealous of the length, the strength of other people's threads. I live in a tightly wound world. I often run into people I once made out with, dated briefly, or caught a glimmer of possibility with over a beer in a lifetime that feels distant, even if I'm standing in the exact same physical place. What I struggle with, what I've struggled with for years, is naming the importance of the relationships I've had with people that don't fit neatly into a category. Romance and desire and longing pull us into odd positions. They pull us into dawn on the way home from another's bed to shower before going into work. Underslept. They pull us into books and movies we never would have known. They pull us into staring at the moon just to look for meaning. Even if the feelings are fleeting, these odd positions change us when the connection is gone. What we're left with is jarring. The evidence. The chorus of a particular song or a whiff of a particular soap is just one side of things. Another person's memory of you, of that same moment, is out in the wild of their mind without you, and what's worse, how they might remember it, or how they might forget it. Today's poem explores an instance of unnamable uncertainty, tumbling through that small, loud tragedy of searching for the importance of another, which is a hard kind of hope. Brooklyn is for Breakups by Chen Chen I fell down a wish and your goof skedaddled and I wish it mattered I fell so backwards right into my heart like a great diver blessed by a different gravity and I wish it mattered A single second, a single sorrow can keep falling did you know that? It can fall through stone, steel your spine any matter forever Just a small, small earthling sad you could thread a sigh through the eye of it but why would you Not a boyfriend, lover, not even six months knowing each other what was there to know but my spine do you remember the bagels, my red jacket, your own unkempt mustache that morning of our eventual let's forget about this. You remember but do you think about it? Do I miss you or do I miss not thinking about those days Seed after seed fell from my very much everything bagel and I thought I'd never run out of things to wish on the dreams got stuck between my teeth didn't you see them? Why didn't we talk about that? I can't remember another morning so early, so early it sounded like night like me calling for you across the avenue Calling you my friend The Slowdown is a production of American Public Media in partnership with the Poetry Foundation. This project is also supported in part by the National Endowment for the Arts. On the web@arts.gov to get a poem delivered to you daily, go to slowdownshow.org and sign up for our newsletter and find us on Instagram. Lown Show.
