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  Dec 2016 jack of spades
daniela
they say in history,
behind every great man there’s an even greater woman.
so think of it like this:
do you know who marcia lucas is?
it’s okay if you don’t.
there’s a reason for that,
until a few months ago i didn’t know her name either.
but you probably know who george lucas is.
biographer dale ******* once said that marcia,
george lucas's first wife who he was married to throughout
the production of the original trilogy,
was his “secret weapon."
and the operative word in that sentence is secret.
because i have been watching star wars
for just about as long as i can remember;
growing up, my brother and i owned not only
half a dozen plastic lightsabers and a box set of both trilogies,
but my dad even likes to mimic yoda’s voice and speech patterns
when he gives me motivational life talks.
but i never once learned marcia lucas's name.
i know star wars super fans who can spout out more trivia
about wedge antilles,
an x-wing pilot with 2.5 total minutes of screen time in the entire saga,
than marcia lucas,
the women who edited the film together
into the cultural phenomenon we know.
marcia lucas is the woman who edited starwars
from a mess into a masterpiece.
the woman who has be described
as the “warmth and heart of the films”
who carved out her husband's characters into people
and developed with much of emotional resolution of the series,
coming up with the idea of killing off ben kenobi
when george lucas couldn’t resolve the plot line himself.
her fingerprints are all over these movies,
she shaped these stories and us with them
yet we never talk about her hands cutting the film.
the woman who edited the scene
where luke skywalker destroys the death star
from a 45 minutes crawl into the fast-paced moment
when the good guys win,
the woman who sewed together
the magic we watched on our screens
is nothing more than a footnote in the credits.
she has been erased from the narrative.
and as i write this poem,
i know that only some of you will never think of this name again.
and if you do it will probably be as trivia,
a fact to spout in a conversation about george lucas
or while you pop in a new hope into the DVD.
but sometimes you have to think about how many people’s lives
end up on the cutting room floor.
they say in history,
behind every great man there’s an even greater woman.
margaret hamilton is the lead software engineer
whose work took apollo 11 to the moon.
do you know her name?
you know the man on the moon but not the woman who put him there.
sybil ludington road twice as far as paul revere
to warn the local militia of the oncoming british attack,
fending off a band of highway robbers as she did.
do you know her name?
long before little richard and chuck berry
were ever even strumming at their guitars,
sister rosetta tharpe was pioneering a genre
with the first album ever labeled as rock’n’roll.
do you know her name?  
rose mccoy wrote the words to the song “i beg of you”
that elvis presley crooned,
along with countless more that other people sang.
do you know her name?
do you know any of their names?
maybe spotlights cast more shadows than they give off light.
we are a culture of people who forget everything out of sight.
they say in history,
behind every great man there’s an even greater woman.
we just... don't know her name,
no one ever bothered to teach us her name.
no one was supposed to.
history is not always about who you remember,
sometimes it is about who you forget.
originally written as part of a longer poem called “the bottleneck effect” that i’ve used at slams like LTABKC but i cut it from the first because it didn’t really fit and then turned it into something new and way longer
jack of spades Dec 2016
what’s your favorite kind of flower?
mine’s a forget-me-not,
a fear settled deep in my chest
that remembering me might
not be for the best,
a knot in my stomach formed
from your stormcloud eyes
like summer skies.
like forget-me-nots.
loyalty and long-lasting
and pleading to remember me, forgetting.
december makes me forget sunny weather.
i think i’m kind of
in love with the sound of your voice,
and your smile,
which is dangerous because smiles
are always going to be the
worst kind of weakness.
i hope they don’t forget me.
i hope you don’t forget me.
i’ll send you bouquets of words i never said
of texts i never sent:
yellow acacias and yellow tulips and blue forget-me-nots
(secret and hopeless and true loves);
angelica and amethyst and flowering almond
(inspiration and admiration and hope);
red columbine because you
leave me anxious, trembling;
white camellia japonica because
your loveliness
is perfected.
send me red carnations
(yes and yes and yes)
with unwritten handwritten answers
(yes and yes and yes).
flower language source: http://www.languageofflowers.com
jack of spades Nov 2016
“the right side of the periodic table is a list of noble gases,
of elements that cannot be combined because they are perfectly complete all on their own,
elements that are bright like neon and light like helium,
floating into the atmosphere with their own lack of density.
you’re just so easy to be around.
you make me feel weightless, like i am basking in sunshine.
name yourself Helios, for you create all the good things that fill up my insides
and send me flying,
reaching for the atmosphere on wax wings.
i am icarus and you are a safety net to catch me.
you are too-fast driving down twisting highways and old jeans that are too loose at the knees.
you are straight teeth and milkshakes and midnight lord of the rings.
eternal summers stretch between your fingertips,
half-empty gas tanks and sugar-coated movie tickets,
helium and neon and icarus.
the ocean strives to be like you, strong and cold and warm and gentle all at once,
endless and alive and full of life.”
jack of spades Nov 2016
nephil of ancient age,
your flaming sword lights my way,
keeping the dark at bay and the path straight.
watch your footsteps, guardian,
lest you forget your own importance,
wilting feathers from once shiny blades.
let air fill your lungs, the scent of old but strong loves.
let light fill your eyes, glimpses of golden gates.
fill the gaps between your fingers with someone else’s flesh--
gently, with care, the way callouses always are.
you are amazing, worth the weight of a thousand stars,
the way laughter lights up your face,
how smiles find their proper place.
you are the cadence of waterfalls,
hopelessly romantic in your strength and fighting calls.
misty and shrouded and all to yourself,
carefully tucked like a secret into half a dozen hearts.
jack of spades Nov 2016
sharpen your eyeliner like kitten’s claws:
dark and dangerous and too easily dismissed,
blue eyes for passing venom through cherry lips,
red hair and pale hands and narrowed hips.
sharpen your nails like songbird’s talons:
small and fierce and brightly colored,
the song of the century coursing through your veins.
sing to me, darling, like the sunrise,
like mixtape CDs and shakespeare
through blown-out car speakers and headphones and window cleaner.
twist pretty words into double helixes--
rearrange the DNA of everyone who dare attempt to slow your pace.
you are not a force that they should reckon with.
jack of spades Nov 2016
that one unfinished bird metaphor
     Wear me like a birdskull necklace.
     Grind my hollow bones into sugar for your coffee.
     Pluck my feathers plume by plume to make pens for your washed-out poetry.


math note lines
     1. I SWALLOWED EVERY PIECE OF GLASS THAT REMAINED FROM YOUR SHATTERED REFLECTION. *******.
     2. WEDGE RAZOR BLADES BETWEEN YOUR TEETH AND SINK THEM INTO ME. TAKE EVERY LAST BREATH FROM ME. COLLAPSE MY LUNGS AND RIP OUT MY TONGUE. LEAVE ME WHERE YOU FOUND ME, VOMITING INTO THE KITCHEN SINK LIKE IT’S NOTHING, SHOULDERS HEAVING. I’VE BEEN PUTTING OFF THIS 3RD PARTY SUICIDE BUT IT ALL COMES CRASHING DOWN TONIGHT. KISS MY HEART GOODBYE.
     3. BREAK YOUR JAW BITING BULLETS LIKE YOU’RE TRIGGER HAPPY. I NEVER ASKED FOR ANY OF THIS BUT HERE WE ARE, STANDING ON THE CLIFF WITH NO COMMON GROUND BETWEEN US. IS THAT WHY YOU JUMPED SHIP? YOU COULDN’T HANDLE IT? I WASN’T BULLETPROOF ENOUGH FOR YOU, AND YOU WERE JUST TOO MUCH.

blinker
     my mom uses her turn signal like an afterthought
     it’s pointless at that point but that’s conditioning
     and her train of thought has always been linear


ugh
     when i was 15 i asked my mom to start taking me to therapy
     she said baby why pay a stranger when you can just talk to me about anything
     and i smiled like i wasn’t dying inside and started writing poetry.
     funerals cost less than student loans
     at this rate when i graduate i won’t be able to afford myself a home
     the american dream has been dead for a century
     a degree is worthless and it’s not likely i’ll make much of a salary
     have you even imagined yourself outside of high school yet?
     i’ve never thought about my life past my graduation date

thinking about someone
     sing serenades through silent car radios like static
     through sleepy stormcloud eyes that could swallow you whole
     he’s got a smile with more stars than yours ever did
     wishbone collarbones and long eyelashes
     stringing together dreams in constellations
     piecing together fractured calculus equations

i’ve been reading pete wentz’s old livejournal posts again*
     you’re apocalyptic chemistry, a candycane of all the things i never was and never could be to keep you stable. i’m a broken spine and you’re fading. love is hard to quantify so i’ll just keep counting and catching fireflies.
random lines that haven't found their way into longer poems quite yet
jack of spades Nov 2016
soft whimpers and shaking pains
slow descent into paralysis
struggling movement
silent moments broken by cries

(he's only five)
(i don't want him to die)
(i feel like i didn't
love him enough while i could)
(i should have taken him
to the dog park more,
or taken him on more walks.)
(i should have been kinder,
and softer,
and a more loving master.)
(i should have wanted him more.)
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