Erin Belieu poems
Erin Belieu(1967 - / Ohama / Nebraska)
Against Writing about Children
- by Erin Belieu 27
When I think of the many peoplewho privately despise children,
I can't say I'm completely shocked,
having been one. I was not
exceptional, uncomfortable as that is
to admit, and most children are not
exceptional. The particulars of
cruelty, sizes Large and X-Large,
memory gnawing it like
a fat dog, are ordinary: Mean Miss
Smigelsky from the sixth grade;
the orthodontist who
slapped you for crying out. Children
frighten us, other people's and
our own. They reflect
the virused figures in which failure
began. We feel accosted by their
vulnerable natures. Each child turns
into a problematic ocean, a mirrored
body growing denser and more
difficult to navigate until
sunlight merely bounces
off the surface. They become impossible
to sound. Like us, but even weaker.
From On Being Fired Again
- by Erin Belieu 27
I've known the pleasures of beingfired at least eleven times—
most notably by Larry who found my snood
unsuitable, another time by Jack,
whom I was sleeping with. Poor attitude,
tardiness, a contagious lack
of team spirit; I have been unmotivated
squirting perfume onto little cards,
while stocking salad bars, when stripping
covers from romance novels, their heroines
slaving on the chain gang of obsessive love—
and always the same hard candy
of shame dissolving in my throat;
handing in my apron, returning the cash-
register key. And yet, how fine it feels,
the perversity of freedom which never signs
a rent check or explains anything to one's family...