poetryrepairs #242 17,11:130

bjauthor : bktitle
pamelyn casto : “Prenatal Care”
pamelyn casto : “for the most part”

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pamelyn casto
“Prenatal Care”

As I walk, taking exercise for the health of the stirring metaphor that will soon come to birth, the metaphor that if fresh and golden will redeem my latest poem, my feet crunch upon the remains of those that came before: most now dead and dry as cicada husks after the dreams have fled, and others, alive but moribund, torn, tattered, abused from common use —hardly worth resurrecting— and I wonder, why another coming-to-be? I walk pregnant as Willendorf’s lump, planted and bulging with possibility, but so fearful of the coming event— for I do not know this metaphor’s father. I know not where, when, or with whom this fertilization took place and confess (hoping forgiveness from my neighbors) to being a promiscuous reader who takes on all comers of the poet kind; every bard and trope-spinner around from the disheveled screaming street poet to the bankerly pin-striped type. Who could be its father? He who speaks in clichés so that my bundle of joy is destined another shaggy Caliban littering his father’s likeness upon my efforts? Or that mad poet who speaks so boldly from the originary that he is incomprehensible and will cause my poem to drool into its own beard? Or perhaps some seminal female poet helped sing into being something utterly new— or just one more vacuous stillborn. I am gravid with care for this unborn metaphor who will only come when the time is right— this unpredictable metaphor who will speak “I am.”

poetryrepairs #242 17,130:





pamelyn casto
“for the most part” 

For the most part, she gets along fine. She was civil, even stoic, accepted the fact that he had to go long before she was ready. For she knew that loving sometimes meant letting go of the whole dreamlike edifice, which she bravely did, for the most part. And life of a sort really did go on after he slammed the door and shattered their pact, for no one literally dies in such situations-- at least, for the most part. But sometimes there's this howl that forms deep within her ferocious lack, in that place where her heart was wounded-- an uncivilized howl of raw animal anguish that must be removed from polite company. It's a fierce howl that must be muzzled, leashed, put on a tight choke chain, dragged off to some secluded private place far away from cultured acquaintances where it can be unchained, given scope, where it can be born properly primal in all its brutal and savage urgency. Once exorcised, in control once again, she walks herself back home, fixes her face to receive proper company and continues on with her daily routines. Really, she's adjusting quite well, getting along just fine... at least, for the most part. Won First Place in 1994 NFSPS Competition, Florida State Poets Association Award. Published in 1995 NFSPS Anthology

poetryrepairs #242 17,130:130




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“Prenatal Care” Published in Encore: Prize Poems of the National Federation of State Poetry Societies 1996.

“for the most part”

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