In what might fall under the category of the calm after the
storm, she posted another poem that light that makes reference to her trip to
the Sandwich Islands earlier this month, a kind of metaphor to life here and
the more idyllic life she experienced out there.
She opened with her experiences in the urban landscape of
the “angry noises of the street,” and the dirty smells, and the cold concrete,
and her need to ingest caffeine in order to deal with it and the “frantic din
that was her mind.”
Here, she alludes to what it means to be a pretty women in
such a place, victim of “cackling catcalls” that tests her sanity.
Then, in the second stanza she talks about the rolling ocean,
the discrete tumbling over a soft, sparkling
shore, the strength of the environment as indicated by the stately palm trees,
which she personifies as they whisper promises in her weary ears, of a life of
love that might wrap around her, providing her with comfort and a faith in the
infinity of sound.
The comparison between this life and that life is obvious as
she contemplates some other, more peaceful existence than the one she is forced
to live with on this side of the Pacific. That life elsewhere allows her to
live in peace.
But the poem is part of a larger picture. She has come to
yet another threshold, an end of one road, or perhaps a crossroads where she
must make a choice, a change of direction.
The romance she’s been involved since the beginning of the year
has come to an ugly end, and she has even less reason to remain where she is,
doing what she is doing.
The desperate attempt to reinvent her public self seems to
have sputtered out, and it appears that she will have to find a new place, a
new bath, embracing once more who and what she hopes to become – while looking
back to one brief moment in the sun with or perhaps without the lover from her
other poems.
While I still ponder over the identity of her lover, it is a
heavy relief that for the most part, I am not a target of her poetry.
For her, this is one more dashed hope. The Pretty Woman
thing she may have hoped to help her stumble out of the dark life to which she
must now again reluctantly turn, unless some other options appears.
If there is an end in sight, it does not seem positive, unless
she finds a place of ultimate peace.
In some ways, this poem is more terrifying to me than those
that preceded it, and all of these recent poems are very painful for me to
read.
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