Thinking on the Rusted Smell of Guitar Strings in the Morning

and other poems

By: Sophia Beck

Anxiety Like the Tongue of a Defenseless Mollusk At Low Tide

Walking along the coast, I watched the ocean waves

slap the beach with breakneck compulsion,

and I feel my own ocean in my throat

thrum in synchronicity with the tides of anxiety.

The waves subside slower than when they arrived.

In their wake lay several shellfish strewn mercilessly

across the ground, vulnerable only split-seconds

after the water strips the thin sediment away.

A seagull hovers—its white wings cutting through

the wind, waiting, watching for the moment

it can scavenge the momentarily defenseless mollusks

taking heed to use every insecurity to its benefit.

This continuing cycle occurs every time the tide returns,

irregularly methodical, and I embody a quiet reverence

for the sand and its secrets as they endure such eternally
perpetual abuse, suffocated under the brackish brine.
Internal Cacophony of Suppressed Light

I found comfort in the shadows—

the only blanket dark enough to dissipate

my sorrows into an inky lake.

I stick my quill in and draw myself a new smile.

When the ink starts to smear,

I can mold a new mask out of the dark air,

like a black smoke screen to keep hidden

an imperfect, tear-stained, vulnerable mess of a face.

In the depths of the murky darkness,

I can make myself appear how I wish I was,

but the black curtain I like to hide behind

does little to drown out the cacophonous silence.

My ears ring constantly. I think it’s my soul screaming,

yelling at me, calling out my name,

desperately trying to get my attention, but the black void in which

I surround myself makes me deaf to the words spoken inside of me.
I Thought This Was What Love Was Supposed to Be

When I was 3, I met my best friend in preschool.

He told me he was going to marry me and I believed him.

He would tease me, chase me, throw pieces of bark and paper
but I was always the first person he’d invite to his birthday party.

I’d sing songs to him on the playground, send him

kisses to embarrass him in front of his friends.

We disguised our hearts behind innocent friendship;

I thought this was what love was supposed to be.

When I was 16, a new love came into my life.

He promised his heart to me as we were ballroom dancing

to the music of Frank Sinatra’s, “Fly Me to the Moon”.

He spun me around so many times, all the while whispering

softly the lyrics into my ear as if they were his own eipstaliary of love.
I did not know he was mouthing the same words into another girl’s lips.

But it was an accident, he would tell me, I was the one.

I thought this was what love was supposed to be.

Today, I have a man who tells me every day

how much he appreciates me, how much he adores me,

how much he looks forward to the woman I am becoming.

He fosters my indepence as if it were his own, and builds

a future with the parts of me I never thought anyone would love.

I wrap his arms around me like a shield against negative thoughts.

Home has become holding hands in bed on a Sunday afternoon—

This is what love is supposed to be.
A Narrative Written from Spider Silk

The spider on his wall skulks in the corner

watching, waiting for the night to veil her,

as she spins herself a web woven

from all the broken promises he kissed

onto the center of his daughter’s forehead

before disappearing into another bottle of beer.

As his daughter sleeps, the spider on his wall steals

a honey-colored lock of youth from the girl’s scalp for her web,

hoping to sweeten the pain that pulsates through its sticky fibers.
The man who’s wall she narrates with their story, lies

asleep on the couch, unaware of the web-made word receipt,

out of sight but always there in the corner of the room.
Thinking on the Rusted Smell of Guitar Strings in the Morning

I never write about you because I never

know what to call you—Step-dad? Ex-step-dad?

Dad? From the time I was 6 months old,

you were the smile I could fall into,

the tatted-up teddy bear with a punk side.

Guitar in one hand, me in the other,

you were the reason I wanted to become a ‘rockstar’.

All I wanted was to be as cool as you.

Friday night dirt bike racing.

Fast motorcycle rides down roads mom restricted.

What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

You brought out the adventure from beneath my halo.

I felt like a rule-breaker, but really, there were no

rules to break because you had none.

You promised me you wouldn’t leave even as you walked

out the door. “Mom doesn’t want me anymore,”

you said, “I’m not ever gonna leave you”.

That was a lie. I don’t blame you. Having to love

your ex-wife’s love child with another man after the divorce
seems a lot like trying to stoke a fire with dead coals.

You probably only loved me because you loved her

anyways. I guess I never write about you because

I don’t even know what to say when you text me,

I love you, while you tell everyone else
I’m just an extra string attached to a past life
you’re trying to forget—someone you used to know.
 Author’s Note
Please provide an image for what writing the poetry assignments in this class has been like
for you. For example, sometimes writing poetry assignments for me is like a truck stuck in
sand. The engine is revving; the sand is blowing in my face; the muscles in my back are
taut and straining like taffy in the hands of a Scottish woman at the school fair; and so on.

The poetry assignments in this class have been like the first ray of sunshine in Alaska
after the winter solstice. They have prompted me to look into my past and shed light on ideas
that I have hid in the darkness for a long time.

What have you found useful or interesting or new or clarifying about poetry during
semester?

The last few classes where we talked about how to continue writing after the class were
extremely helpful. I feel like I have the resources I need to continue writing as well as being able
to eventually take my writing to the next level if I want to.

(For revised pieces) What did you change, where will I find the changes, and why did you
make these changes? Be sure to include examples from specific poems to support your
answers here.

First and foremost, all of my poem titles changed to better fit the felt idea of the poem
and draw the reader in. I changed the structuring of all the poems except for “I Thought This
Was What Love Was Supposed to Be” into couplets so I could have a structure trend throughout
all my poems.
I took the original poem of “Anxiety Like the Tongue of a Defenseless Mollusk At Low
Tide” to workshop, and one of the things I needed to work on was the clarity of the felt idea.
Originally, it was supposed to be about a panic attack, but after everyone’s feedback, I realized it
was actually more of an anxiety poem. A big part of the clarity of the felt idea is the title. I
changed it so the reader knows what to think before going into the poem. I also added two lines
(the second couplet) to reference the anxious feeling to the speaker as well so that the reader
knows the rest of the poem is a metaphor for their anxiety. I also changed the seagull image
slightly so it would appear more menacing and predatorial by changing “hovering” to “cutting
through the air”.
I basically rewrote the whole second poem so that the only character in the poem was the
speaker. The “you” that was in the previous draft will be saved for another poem. The only thing
I saved was the first stanza from the original.
When I took “I Thought This Was What Love Was Supposed to Be” to workshop, it was
brought to my attention that the “middle boy” seemed out of place because it was the only
section that was written through metaphors. In revision, I completely changed that whole section
to be more concrete and physical so it blended in with the other sections and was clearer. There
was another question that was raised as to whether or not the boys in the poem were all one
person or multiple different people. I chose to keep that as is because I think with the revised
middle it makes it more clear that they are all separate people.
I changed the second half of “A Narrative Written From Spider Silk” because the original
draft made no sense to me when I reread it. I also wanted to make sure the felt idea was clear: the
pain created in the relationship between the father and the daughter is always there like a
spiderweb in the corner of the room.
The last (and the title) poem is my favorite so I had to include it. I made minor changes
because this is such a raw poem and I tried very hard but I couldn’t part with any line or image. I
feel like the underlying message and feeling is present throughout all my poems this semester
(hence why it is the title poem). I played around with line breaks and punctuation so people
would read it how I want them to. It was originally in triplets, but I liked it in couplets better.

What discoveries did you make during the process of revision? What difficulties did you
encounter? Mention examples from specific poems.

The main thing I found during the process of revision is that I tend to want to write with
metaphors when a subject is hard for me to face up front. Because of this, the revision of poem,
“I Thought This Was What Love Was Supposed to Be” was a bit difficult in the middle part
because I wasn’t sure how to be blunt about it. I tried my best and I think it turned out pretty
good. I forced myself to be concrete and raw from the beginning in the title poem, and I love
how that one turned out. I guess you could say I discovered that being specific in poems about
personal experiences is great for the soul of the writer as well as the mind of the reader.

What tools do you think you have learned to use best in drafting your poems—imagery and
figurative language, specific language, sonic devices (for example, alliteration, assonance,
consonance), line breaks, form & structure, and rhythm? Give an example or two that
you’re pleased with—from your own poems.

I think I have done really well with the use of sonic devices like alliteration and
assonance as well as creating a good rhythm in my poems. I could quote the whole first poem,
but if I had to pick two lines that showcase my use of sound the best, I would say, “The waves
subside slower than when they arrived. / In their wake lay several shellfish strewn mercilessly”
are pretty good. I also think that I use decent figurative language and imagery in most of my
poems. I particularly like the lines “the only blanket dark enough to dissipate / my sorrows into
an inky lake. / I stick in my quill and draw myself a new smile” from the poem “Internal
Cacophony of Suppressed Light”.

What tools do you think you still have difficulties with? In other words, using them still
seems stiff or rubs against the grain for you? Give examples that other students or I
marked that you’re having a hard time revising.
 I have a hard time figuring out how to change the clarity of the line while still keeping the
structure and rhythm of the poem. Specifically the second couplet in the first poem, “Anxiety
Like the Tongue of a Defenseless Mollusk At Low Tide” was difficult to change while still
keeping the couplet structure. I also have trouble with “sexy titles” in general. I gave my
maximum effort to try and create specific, unique and engaging titles, but it is really difficult to
do while still keeping in mind the felt idea of the poem. I will say that I do think I’m getting
slightly better at it though.
In what specific ways did you push yourself to stretch and grow as a student in this class
learning about the craft of writing poems? Be sure to discuss attendance, class
participation, your attention to the assigned readings and what you’re learning from them,
responses to other students’ work as well as the work on your own poems.
The main thing that I tried to improve was working on the structuring and line breaks of
my poems. There are some students in the class who are really good at this, so whenever we
would workshop their poems, I would pay attention to how they went about using their structure
and how people reacted to it. As far as attendance goes, I have only missed two classes which
has not hindered my learning of the material. I have turned in all of the assignments in on time,
and when I missed the last workshop, I made sure to email Jacob my responses to his poems. I
think the poet that influenced my learning the most this semester was Mai Der Vang. I went to
her reading as one of my literary events, and I’ll never forget what she said: “Your writing
doesn’t have to make sense to everyone”. That just really resonated with me because sometimes I
write in big metaphors that only really make sense to me when analyzing the poem, but on a
surface level, it sounds pretty good. I like her idea of writing as a mode of release, and I found
both of these aspects throughout her book.