This is adorable!! This poem is so old! I love all the love it receives!
I wrote “Jupiter” when I was living in London and my boyfriend at the time broke up with me. I spent a lot of time sitting in my room free-writing drafts of “Elbows” and “Jupiter” and walking the city in the gloomy evenings listening to Tegan and Sara’s “The Con.”
i ran out of room on addiction
3/4 ran out of room aw yeah.
Meow! I’m up on Smashbox’s Top 5 blog with my Favorite hideaway Spots. So excited.
Fall Tour Sneak Peek
More more more to come! Here’s a sneak peek of my upcoming fall tour!
September 3rd, 2012
Feature @ Electric Truth
Baton Rouge, LA
September 5th, 2012
Red Dirt Poetry Slam
Oklahoma City, OK
September 6th, 2012
Write Club
Norman, OK
September 11th, 2012
Austin Poetry Slam
Austin, TX
September 25th, 2012
Da Poetry Lounge
Hollywood, CA
September 30th, 2012
Portland Poetry Slam
Portland, OR
October 1st, 2012
Bellingham Poetry Slam
Bellingham, WA
October 2nd, 2012
Seattle Poetry Slam
Seattle, WA
October 10th, 2012
Berkeley Poetry Slam
Berkeley, CA
October 11th, 2012
The New Shit Show
San Francisco, CA
New poem Monday!
“The Seconds After The Dreamer Wakes.” Carrie Rudzinski.
The Endless Return Home: Available Online!
My new book, The Endless Return Home, can be purchased online here!
22 poems. Heartache. Some severed hands.
4/30. After The First Suicide Attempt.
What you buried
did not stay dead.
Every drawer you open
is now a window to something sharper.
Clean and silver,
your father’s voice
follows you around the house,
childproofing your thoughts.
(She’s fine. We’re fine.
Don’t touch that. She’s out
of the ICU. Don’t touch.
There’s no need to come.
Don’t. We’ll survive.)
He’s hidden all of the bottles –
the ones that matter –
on the top shelf of his closet.
When he goes out
to smoke, you touch each
of their faces. Promises
you don’t intend to keep.
At night, you dream
of a Witch’s house –
the windowpanes filled
with tiny handprints –
a dying rose garden,
a trail of pills to lead you home.
An escape you are aware
you will someday take.
You spend each morning
digging in the yard,
your wrists thick
with plants that choke
everything around them.
A dozen graves to haunt.
We all die, we all break,
a promise is a promise, you’ll say.
Today is just a beginning –
a chance to say
all of the things you meant
to say. Tomorrow
is still just a ghost.
You must believe
in her first.
- © Carrie Rudzinski
*For National Poetry Month, the 4th poem in my attempt at 30 poems in 30 days.*
Shows! Shows! Shows!
Beltway Poetry Slam
7:30pm @ The Fridge (516 1/2 8th Street SE (Rear Alley)
Washington, D.C.
March 27th, 2012
Spotlight Feature at Sparkle
9pm @ http://www.busboysandpoets.com/tickets.php
Washington, D.C.
March 28th, 2012
The Fuze
8pm @ Infusion (7133 Germantown Ave)
Philadelphia, PA
March 30th, 2012
The Dirty Gerund
9pm @ Ralph’s Diner (148 Grove St)
Worcester, MA
April 2nd, 2012
For the man who told me
“I’m going to be a father soon.
Thank God it’s going to be a boy.
If it was a girl,
I’d have to buy me a shotgun
and shoot whoever she brought home.”
THE SHOTGUN SPEAKS
You, sir, are my favorite kind of my beast:
the hunter who has become a cannibal.
The one who knows it is so much easier
to hunt what you have always been,
that flesh is just flesh as long as it runs.
Tell me, what does your daughter smell like?
Does she love as hard as she bites?
Do the catcalls now stick in your throat?
Do you dream of the women
who’ve swallowed you whole?
What do you fear the most:
the mirrors of men she will bring home
or the constant reminder of the daughters
you’ve stalked? Are you still excited by the dark?
The burst, the carcass, purpled thighs:
My darling, where have your hands been?
What weapons would you plant
in a son?
- © Carrie Rudzinski.
New Poem Tuesday!
