Poem in 45 Parts

At NorthBEAST this weekend, I noticed a growing subgenre of performance poems in multiple parts. Six parts. Nineteen parts. Sometimes indicated by actually saying the number out loud (more common with greater numbers) or by indicating silently with a hand count (more common with smaller numbers). In the hour between the end of my workshop, Beginning with the Body, and the open mic, I decided to go to the extreme end of one of these poems in parts. I'll post the poem first, then a few thoughts on the creation thereof. Incidentally, the numbers should be read aloud, with almost no break between the number and the text that follows.

Poem in 45 Parts

1. In 3rd grade you made a mosaic.

2. It was supposed to be a fish.

3. It looked like a fish exposed to Chernobyl.

4. Seven years later you made a lamp in art class.

5. It didn't work.

6. Four years later you met me.

7. We kissed.

8. You tasted like ash.

9. You made a vase.

10. There were no flowers in it.

11. You made an ashtray.

12. It worked.

13. I fixed the lamp.

14. You said your lungs felt like Chernobyl just before it melted down.

15. You only showed me the fish once.

16. Two years later we moved in together.

17. I put flowers in the vase.

18. I realized I was the only one who ever turned on the lamp.

19. I asked you why a fish.

20. You said you mistook pieces for Pisces.

21. This was not the first lie.

22. This was not the first truth.

23. I forgot to turn the lamp on.

24. You didn't notice.

25. You didn't empty the vase.

26. Nor the ashtray.

27. I asked you why you left them full.

28. You said you mistook full for fool.

29. I asked.

30. You said you mistook ask for ash.

31. I asked.

32. You said you were having a meltdown.

33. You said you mistook born for broken.

34. You said you were drowning.

35. I replaced the flowers.

36. You threw the vase out the window.

37. You threw the ashtray.

38. You threw the lamp.

39. You threw the fish.

40. I looked at them shattered in the street.

41. I said you mistook me.

42. I said I was never trying to fix you.

43. This was not the first lie.

44. This was not the first truth.

45. I said I was just trying to keep track of the pieces.

If I was going to dive into a poem in multiple parts, I had several major considerations. First and foremost, there had to be a reason to divide this thing up. In this case, I came up with the first and last images first. Coming up with some kind of emotional fracturing would add a new layer to the idea of pieces. I wanted to keep with the mosaic concept, individual bits that resemble each other but bounce around so as to actually justify division into so many parts. Thus the jumping ahead in years and so forth. Secondly, I wanted to keep the language simple. If there were to be this many parts, then the structure itself should be the complex part, and the individual moments simple (a concession to a listening audience, since this is meant to be read aloud).

I'm not explaining this particularly well. Read it out loud to yourself as a somewhat brisk pace. It'll fall into line best that way.