Transcript
Amica Insurance Narrator (0:00)
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LifeLock Narrator (0:30)
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Amica Insurance Narrator (0:38)
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LifeLock Narrator (0:40)
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Maggie Smith (1:00)
Foreign I'm Maggie Smith and this is the Slowdown. I've lived in my house for almost 16 years, but before that I moved almost every year for 10 years, apartment after apartment after apartment. This meant packing up my things every year when the lease ended and also negotiating with my then partner what to keep, what to get rid of, and where to put everything in the new place. The first decorative object I bought for my first apartment at a first year MFA student 25 years ago was a glass head. I found her in a shop and named her Fiona. Fiona still lives in my house now, in the entryway where she greets anyone who walks in the front door. Sometimes, despite the many shifting variables, objects can be a constant. My life today is very different from my life 25 years ago, but Fiona is still here. Today's poem makes me think about these small negotiations and also about timing, how the lives we're living might have been different if we'd made different choices along the way. Who might I have been, or with whom or where, if the timing had been different? Did I arrive too late to certain parts of my life or too early? Or am I right on time? The choose your own adventure aspect of life is something on my mind a lot. I suspect it was on this poet's mind to two Wind Related Ripple in the Wheat Field by Mikko Harvey I love the shape of our apartment as I walk through it in near total darkness. I love walking slowly through that darkness with my arms out, trying not to bump into furniture. How many apartments have I done this in now? I loved them all. Or possibly I just loved how they held darkness slivers of street light sneaking into the fortress, amplified and lent personality by the darkness surrounding them. Wherever you are is a country. Touch it softly to make it stand still. Your hair getting caught in my mouth all the time like a tiny piece of you calling like a tree trying to speak to a rock by dropping a pine cone on is my intention to listen. But my hands keep giggling while reminding me I don't get to be a human being for very long, as if this were the punchline to a joke whose first half I missed. I arrived too late. I typically arrive about three years too late. I wish I had been able to sit in that white, aromatic kitchen and look you in the face. But I was not ready. I was still on my way. I was lingering inside the perspective of the spider I noticed crawling along the baseboard. You fried an egg. Is it possible to change who we basically are? Thank you for serving me cups of lemon tea with honey in it, even though such copious amounts of liquid would no doubt drown the insect I imagined myself to be. That was kind of you. The Slowdown is a production of American Public Media in partnership with the Poetry Foundation. To get a poem delivered to you daily, go to slowdownshow.org and sign up for our newsletter. And find us on Instagram @downdownshow and bluesky@downdownshow.org.
