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"In response to Krzysztof Kieslowski's film Blue, I wonder why Juliette Binoche's character doesn't finish her masterpiece with the help of a woman. Why does she have to have a lover? I mean sexual release is necessary, I get it, but what if an empathetic female friend broke through the grief? I consider this—women needing women—in my poem. Sadly, I couldn't think of a nickname I like that only women give each other, such as 'bro,' which many guys I knew in the '90s were calling each other."
—Farrah Field

Blue Is Beautiful Amy but the Story Is So the '90s

Farrah Field

I wanted to be the one who thought of truck bed walls.
You locked yourself in the bathroom
so I couldn’t brush my teeth before bed.
Where is this going and will it be successful? I hate bullies.
She’s been everywhere she even heard
the shot that killed John Lennon.
From now on I’m sticking up
for myself. My notes and to-do’s have flowers.
I don’t want to die. I feel scared all the time.
What you looked like as a child is clear.
The way you run from the hot tub
and throw yourself in the pool.
When they were joining the EU.
I worry about mine.
Have you ever seen your own cervix?
You’re like a natural matzoh ball maker.
Why did I ever want to be in the couple
with the white walls three shoes and lots of art.
Scarves from museum shops.
I sat your kid on my counter
and we spilled food everywhere.
The nickname grandchildren give is the one you die with.
Everyone wanted to see a movie where the woman turns to stone.
They say Maria Falconetti never acted again.
The gym was impossible after I fell on my knee.
I walked up to you and cried.
Why do you treat your son better than your daughter.
Talk about something else like did anyone ever call you bro.

Copyright © 2013 by Farrah Field. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on July 31, 2013. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.

Copyright © 2013 by Farrah Field. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on July 31, 2013. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.

Farrah Field

by this poet

poem
You didn't win the Cyndi Lauper look-alike contest
at the skating rink. Pretending to understand 

you're in therapy. How long do you spend
thinking about women's arms.

We were supposed to do it 23 times before we broke up.
To honor the day we met.

Suddenly everyone values
at home child care
now that men do it
poem
The sleeping one is erect and mumbles.
The room went Arctic overnight

and his foot peeks outside the covers.
You leave his warm slumber

five minutes before the new hour,
stomach growling, and possible

moon somewhere. There's slight moisture
still. He'll later say he saw you leave.

The day will happen soon