This week’s poem from Slate is entitled Red Cloth and is written by Sara Peters. As the semester ends, you might be swamped with work to do and exams to take. But if you have a free moment in the end-of-semester flurry, or if you’re not a student and happen to have some time in your afternoon or evening, I encourage you to check out the audio version of this poem. Hearing poems read is a fun thing to do and hearing poems read actually by their author is even better. So check it out!
Sara Peters’ biography seems to be absent from the internet, unfortunately. So I am unable to present you with some background on her or her work as a poet. If anyone knows where I could find a bio of Sara Peters, the poet, leave the comment! For now, let’s move on to the poem.
Red Cloth, by Sara Peters
I went to this party, I stared at a man in orange glasses,
And then there was nothing to do
Except follow his red cloth shoes to the beach.
I buried the base of my glass and watched
As (naked) he staggered too close to the waves—
I sat in the sand and counted my bracelets.
The man in orange glasses said
Cape Breton’s so green—like living inside a salad!
Then he fell backward
Trying to trace a castle in the stars.
I am not sure why I’m convinced
That expressing contempt is my life’s work—
And I should’ve been back at that party
Building my own complex salad
Using unimpeachably local mushrooms (grown
On my body), not here, watching these waves
Throw the same length of chain at the shore.
And why do I crave not the shaved
And lotioned surface of his or any
Body, but only the tangy,
Throbbing interior? Wet wheels spinning, wet looms weaving,
One red tissue after another
Torn by my reach?
I hope you enjoyed this week’s poem from Slate. If you have any Christmas poems you’d like to see us post here in the coming weeks, feel free to leave a comment here or on any post on the blog.
— Mary Egan, Jet Fuel Blog Editor