Old Selves

Writing about the Truth and Prompt

Writing about truth is hard. It is painful. That might be why I don’t often do it. But when I do it, it is highly rewarding.

Below is an original prose poem that is close to being ‘directly about me’ as I can get. I will admit that it hurt to write it. I was looking at an old photo of myself my old high school boyfriend sent me, and getting misty eyed. At first, I could hardly tell that it was me.

Instead of sitting there in a nostalgic stupor, I decided to write a prose piece inspired by it. I thought of it as painting a ‘still life’ with words.

I feel that if we can make something out of otherwise forgotten moments in our lives, we will (in a personal and creative way) be able to process the difficult reality of getting older—the deaths of our parents, our early-life dreams or fantasies, the loss of our first love, saying goodbye to youth, etc.

Prompt: Look closely at an old photo of yourself, one that yanks on your heart. Now: write a “still-life sketch” of that moment in time.

I hope you enjoy my piece.

Old Selves

by Meg Pokrass

There you were humming them songs. There you were feeling fat inside your clothes even though you were tiny. There you were in the midst of your one-time-only beauty, a beauty you’d rent for a decade and then decide it had been enough.

There you were in your mother's house, the one she loved because it was her own and she could tear down walls and build cupboards, the one she'd have to sell when she got cancer.

There you were baking cookies for the relatives, listening to Lovely Rita, thinking about how great it was to be a sexy meter maid.

There you were at the end of childhood, still loving your mother too much and trying not to let it ruin you.

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