Perspective & Complexity
with prompts & poems by Alyssa Sinclair & Kate Baer
“If you’re lucky, the baby cries…” from C-Section by Alyssa Sinclair
How do we write about emotionally (and perhaps physically) complex experiences in unexpected and/or experimental forms? How might writing in the second person act as a poetic tool for making this complexity more accessible to readers?
This week’s guest writer is Alyssa Synclair: Alyssa Sinclair completed her BA in History of Art and Master’s degree in Creative Writing at the University of St. Andrews. She grew up in the Boston area, and lives in Dallas, Texas. Her poetry and essays have been featured by River Teeth Journal, Bear Review, Mutha Magazine, Literary Mama, Poetry Society of NY and Blueline Magazine, among other publications. Her first chapbook of poetry, Venus Anadyomene, is available through Finishing Line Press. Learn more about Alyssa on Instagram (@byalyssasinclair) & on her website.
When I wrote the poem below (originally published in River Teeth journal), I was trying to give voice to just what was so traumatic and isolating about my c-section experiences. I used the second person as a tool to put the reader in my shoes. The second person is often viewed as particularly challenging, but I also see it as an invitation for immediacy.
In the following poem, What Children Say by Kate Baer (from her book What Kind of Woman) she uses a collection of found language from day-to-day interactions to express larger dynamics. I love the way she evokes the quotidian and mundane using this technique, while allowing the reader’s imagination to form ideas about the reality of life for the writer.
What Children Say
I can’t reach my cup, my water bottle,
the snack up on the shelf. I can’t do
it. I won’t do it. I would never do it
in a million years. You need to help
me. Help me faster. Do it the way
I asked you to. I don’t like pizza or
watermelon. I don’t like anything I
liked before. I do not want it. I do
not need it. I will never move up off
this floor. Do not help me. Do not
hold me. Do not sit down beside my
bed. I’m not sleeping. I’m not tired.
I’m too scared to fall asleep. You must
hold me. You must rock me. Do not
leave me alone. I am thirsty. I am
hungry. I am too tired to put my toys
away. Do not be angry. Do not start
singing. Where is the butterfly I drew?
I’m still hungry. I’m still playing. Will
you leave me? Will you stay?
Are you interested in taking a virtual class with Joan? Click HERE!
Are you seeking manuscript feedback? Click HERE!
Okay! Ready to write?
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to They Say Poetry is Dead... to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.