moon shot

​if I could write the perfect poem
when I write the perfect poem
will I write the perfect poem
if I could will a perfect poem
for Alice, Alice what
have you done
for me, Alice what
will you think if again?
Alice, your long hair,
your needling eyes, your
hard eyes, your lusts
before readers
for your readers
because readers
because for your readers lusts
you lay long hair over what
ears, for your readers brains
and fears, your long hair
hangs over your ears and in
your fingers as you lean in
to read your perfect poem.
Alice, what have you done
for us this time?  tell us
how it happened, then and
this time, some shit hole
light, this way of processing
unknowing everything.  make us
giddy how you seem to know
everything, your long hair
everywhere, your fingers feeling
for the podium, now themselves,
for this moment for us.  It isn’t
perfect, is it.  when was it,
perfect, maybe, if ever, now
only in remembering. my poem
will not be anything but
remembering, it will be
anything but perfect.  yet it
will be here for me, this poem
as she was here for us, this
for Alice

In Aug 2022, The Cabin included this poem in its Writers in the Attic (WITA) anthology, which publishes literary work related to a one-word theme. This year's theme was moon; past years’ themes have included fuel, song, game, and nerve.

For more details about WITA - Moon (2022): 
https://www.thecabinidaho.org/read/wita-2022-theme-moon

​On Friday, November 3, 2017, renowned poet Alice Notley read poems in the Lookout Room of the Student Union Building for an event sponsored by the Boise State University MFA Program.[1]

I attended. I took a few pictures from my seat in the front row. The next day I posted on Instagram,[2] this picture of Alice reading from her book, Certain Magical Acts:

That weekend following her reading, I began writing a poem for Alice, this poem.
​ 
Then on Sunday evening, Martin Corliss-Smith and I hosted a birthday dinner and reception for Alice, at MING Studios. 

I had originally intended to give Alice this poem that evening, at MING; but it wasn’t ready yet. Later that evening, I worked on it. The next morning before going to the airport, I worked on it further.

I had an early Monday morning flight to catch, another business trip. Alice was also at the airport that morning, on her way to visit with her son in New York, before flying home to Paris. I met her at Gate 14, before she boarded her flight.

We chatted for several minutes. She spoke proudly of her son and his work as a poet.  I asked if I could visit her in Paris. 

And as she stood up to board her plane and we both stood up, I handed her a folded piece of paper from my suit jacket pocket with this handwritten poem hidden there within the folds & that was that we said good-bye.

That was the morning of November 8, 2017, Alice's 72nd birthday.