A repair man came; Wandering; Sisters
A repair man came
and he lit the fire
and turned on my lights
while I sat and studied
his hands
his hip bones
the back of his head
he didn’t seem to want to leave
kept finding new things to fix
asking me
what
else
is
broken?
I pointed
here and there
the sink has
old plumbing
I think
he’d nod and
get to work
while
I’d pretend
to scrutinize
be familiar
with procedure
informed
like
the magazine
subscriptions
piled by the door
with names of people
who lived there
before me
I never put
return to sender
or told the company
that dispatched him
they had the
wrong address
who am I
to tell the world
their business?
he’d just
finish up
and smile at me
before asking
“what next?”
Wandering
there is a past inside us
where
we once explored
our higher selves
a place we traveled to
in distance
(and in theory)
drinking foreign beer
and
tasting tourist tongues
our shallow kisses
carrying us
through moments
of being lost
a time where we
(together in our primal need)
discovered the confines
of our humanity
saw our spirit
flash
before us
like northern lights
Sisters
you and I conspired
against them for once,
instead of one another,
like always
you took one turn
peeing into the jar,
then it was mine
laughing
under the avocado tree
Maybe someone will think its apple juice!
And drink it! Ha ha ha!
at the dinner table,
we licked empty bowls,
the phone
never
stopped
ringing
we pretended
grocery store
and bank
blue and green cash
rich as peacock feathers
between chubby fingers
while flesh pink fiberglass
hemorrhaged
through punched holes in
the yellow hallway wallpaper
his hands around her neck
you got tired of pretend
and said they’d be sorry
then wished me luck
as you put the bread
I stole for you
into a runaway backpack
go fish
wouldn’t fit
so you dealt
our cards
one more time
for you,
I learned not
to tell the truth
mouth sewn shut
like a rag doll
you said that’s what love is:
never saying
all the things
we know
about each other
Candace Angelica completed a Creative Writing program at Cal Arts Institute in Valencia, and has poetry published by Ming Chuan University Press in Taiwan. She holds degrees in Mandarin, Political Science, and International Studies from California State University, Long Beach. She is currently working on a book length memoir of her time in Havana, Cuba.
About Wandering: Simone De Beavoir wrote in The Ethics of Ambiguity: "having been is also a kind of being, and perhaps the surest kind." Wandering is a poem that ponders the culmination of our individual and collective human experience and how that relates to our natural essence of spirit and form. I think most of us have a tendency to either highlight or diminish the things that we have done or have happened to us based on our desire to project an image of something else; but there is nothing more certain (and by no means stagnant) about what we are than the experiences and the people that have shaped us. We look forward towards the light, and the spark of past embers tremble inside of us, remembering what it was to be aflame.
Interview with the Poet:
CNP:
How long have you been writing poetry?
Candace Angelica:
When I was in third grade I won a poetry contest with something I’d written about my Grandma’s cat. I was about 8 or 9. I was always making up songs and stuff before that, but I think that was the first time I realized what words could do; how writing the truth creatively could reach others somehow.
CNP:
Can you remember the first poem you read that made you fall in love with poetry?
CA:
I remember reading "Phenomenal Woman" when I was in middle school and just having my mind absolutely busted right open about what poetry could be, the power of words and reflection.
CNP:
Who are your favorite poets? Any specific poems?
CA:
Maya Angelou, Pablo Neruda, Cynthia Schwartzberg Edlow, Ron Koertge. A poem called "Signal Hill" by Sharon Duobiago is my favorite poem. The last lines never fail to both devastate and resuscitate me.
CNP:
Can you share for us a little bit about your writing process? Any specific rituals that get you in
the zone?
CA:
It usually starts with a melody in my head, like remembering the lyrics to a song I’ve never heard before. I like to viscerally write everything down with pen and paper first. There’s still something magical about that; scribbling them out and seeing all your crazed rantings and corrections illustrated before you.
CNP:
How do you decide the form for your poems? Do you start writing with a form in mind, or do you let the poem tell you what it will look like as you go?
CA:
I listen for the ends of thoughts and images and they decide where to punctuate themselves.
CNP:
Any advice for poets who have yet to find their voice?
CA:
Comparison is the thief of joy; no one can be better than you at being you. Lean into all your creaky, leaky spaces and embrace your unique experience.
CNP:
What is your editing process like?
CA:
I try not to be too critical of the work as it’s coming along so I can resist that adolescent tendency to rip out pages in my diary. I think this is true with a lot of poets, but there are poems I’ve walked away from for years, only to revisit and see what we still have in common, how we’ve both changed, and then when I’ve absolutely smothered all of my original little darlings, it actually becomes something I'm good with.
CNP:
When do you know that a poem is finished?
CA:
Just like any relationship: when I feel good about walking away.
