Bad Poetry: Crossword Puzzle Edition

This is a story of coincidences and bad poetry.

In thinking of what to post on this blog next, I decided I wanted to add something to my Creative section, since I have yet to do so. I had two ideas: a crossword puzzle poem, and an erasure poem.

A crossword puzzle poem is an idea given to me by my brilliant and future-famous-poet friend Kaysey. To get started, you find the crossword puzzle section of any newspaper, and then write down some or all of the past answers to puzzles. Then, you use those words to create a poem. It’s a challenge to fit all of the words into a poem, especially without it seeming forced.

An erasure poem is when you take a page of any kind of content – a book page, a magazine, a newspaper, anything with text – and you begin blocking out or covering up words, with the goal being that any of the remaining words will create a poem.

This time, I opted for a crossword puzzle poem. I shuffled through the pages of the Star Tribune, finally finding the crossword puzzle section, and also the weirdest coincidence: the word right in the center of the puzzle was “Ana.”

Weirder still, the word “erasure” was at the very bottom of the puzzle.

Ok, let’s talk about odds here. Because they’ve got to be super low. When’s the last time you heard someone use the word “erasure?” And how many times do you hear the name “Ana?” And they both just happen to be in one crossword in the issue that I happen to pick up?

I feel like there’s definitely some hidden message or sign here, but I’m not sure what it would be. Maybe each of the words in the crossword puzzle indicate something about my life. “Bay Area,” was another set of words, after all, and I did just get back from San Francisco.

Who knows! What I do know is that crossword puzzle poems are much harder than I had anticipated, and while I’m not the proudest of this poem, I’m sharing it anyways, because it was fun to write, and writing is all about practice and getting into the rhythm of things. I’ve definitely been out of my poetry rhythm for awhile, so here’s to me starting to pedal the bike again. Sorry if you hate it!

Velvet Still

We are not so different,
the sea and I –
promise you marlins
and deliver you sharks.
Take my cab to
the Bay Area,
board the U.S.S. Santiago,
run your fingers along the banisters,
and stroll down the empty aisles –
breathe in my fatal quiet.
I’ll be your absentee,
write you to erasure –
rose red but velvet still.
Call me Ana,
but I’ll be your Zelda.

On this side of paradise,
we act out in the roles in which
we’ve been type-cast;
shed each other’s secrets
like heavy, banal coats,
just waiting to ease
ourselves into the fog just beyond –
trembling above the waves. Hear the water
whisper: you’re still the five-letter word
we’ve been waiting to chariot
home.

Let that settle in your chest:
a slew of age-old questions
pumping themselves through your veins,
resonating through each stark gasp of your lungs:
If this is us now, what does the other side of paradise look like?
Canals of silver,
threading themselves through
each phase of time
that my mind tries to string itself through,
unraveling.

My list of crossword puzzle answers (I didn’t use all of the words in the puzzle, it would have been a few too many):