Pressing Pause for Poetry: Cristin O'Keefe Apotowicz (Round Two!)

"The Underground" by Gerard Boersma (www.gerardboersma.nl).

Although I shared one of Apotowicz's poems way back in April (forever ago, it seems!), she's too unique of a poet not to revisit her work, so this week I thought I'd share another.  I love the following poem because not only does she capture the weirdness and monotony of our daily routines, but she also infuses a bit of humor and reality into the subject--she seems to ask the question: are we defined by our day-to-day sameness, or can we ever break free?

So press pause and enjoy...

In the Movie of My Life I Sometimes Imagine

In the opening credits, I am riding the subway.
It’s a montage of all of my morning commutes.
My clothing and the books I’m reading change,
but everything else stays pretty much the same.

My weary character is messy but determined.
The montage itself is supposed to reflect life’s
monotony, but there’s pockets of humor too:
the mornings I’m so tired I don’t realize I am

holding my book upside down; the times
I’ve accidentally worn my sweater inside out
and backwards, the small pale tag hanging
like a flag of surrender at my throat; how

I like to make eye contact with dogs in bags,
their wet noses pressed against the mesh. Still,
it’s clear the movie is not a thin comedy. There
is a real person here. I’m a real person here.

I tend to fantasize about this movie the most
while I’m on the subway. Pretend I am being
filmed, angle my face to just left of where
I imagine the camera should be. I pause

to let viewers see me, really see me. My brain’s
director tells me my motivation. I am to think:
determined. Sometimes, deserving. I tend to think:
struggling. Sometimes, useless. But I push

through it. And then, at the perfect moment.
I swing my head right, look past the camera
into what I assume is my triumphant future.
I imagine this is where the film jump-cuts

to black, where the opening credits end and
the real meat of the movie begins. Only, I have
no idea what is supposed to happen next.
I haven’t gotten that far. So instead, I go back

to the opening, me in the subway again. Still.
Sometimes I imagine the music playing over
the opening credits. Is it happy? Is it sad?
Does it make any difference at all?

If you were to make a movie of your life--or of your daily routine--what would it be like? Would it be happy or sad? Definitely something to think about...

Namaste,
Mary Catherine

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