The Princess and the Pea
Lucy M. Logsdon
I opened the window, started throwing
things out. Goodbye love, so long typewriter, flowered
flounce chair, whiskey tumbler,
full ashtray, unsmoked cigarettes.
There goes ambition, bounce,
bounce. Next comes love, the pink and red
starred quilt, the delicately stitched moon patterns.
No more having to lie in what I’ve made.
I keep looking for that tiny pea of disturbance,
that one word if erased, whited out, rephrased,
would let me rest. But nothing comes; I am blankness.
Cover my wounds; shroud my sorrows.
Out go the photos, out goes the phone, out all
the maimed writings that refuse to add up.
Soon it will be me flying through the window. Down,
down goes the princess. How did I
get this so wrong? I just wanted a little quiet
rest. A pea safe inside a pod. I wanted to crawl
down deep into the heart of everything, a seed snug
in layered dirt. I wanted the world to cushion me,
like layers and layers of inflatable bedding. I wanted
Costco sized security. No wonder it was never
enough. The entire world is my disturbance—niggling,
needling, the stone in my shoe.
Lucy M. Logsdon’s work has appeared in a variety of places. A sampling: Nimrod, Poet Lore, The Southern Poetry Review, Conclave, Sixfold, Seventeen. She has received various awards, including a Poetry Society of America emerging writer award, and a Macdowell Artist colony fellowship. She received her MFA from Columbia University in NYC.