wanna listen?

Hello dear friends,

This post is not a poem! Well, not a written one anyway. This is an introduction to my new substack podcast, SPOKEN words per person. The idea is that each episode will feature a soundtracked, spoken word version of a poem. I have wanted to give this a try for a while, so please let me know any feedback you may have or requests for future episodes. My first attempt features a recent poem, “speaking of cognitive dissonance” and was generously (and gorgeously) produced and mixed by a very dear friend of mine, swim good now.

Check out my Bandcamp if you want to send a tip: https://wordsperperson.bandcamp.com

Find more of swim good now’s music here: https://linktr.ee/swimgoodnow

Thank you again so very much for reading (and now listening to) my words, it actually means the whole world to me.

Here’s to trying new things! What’s something new you’ve tried lately? I’d love to hear from you:).

Nic

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speaking of cognitive dissonance

I wonder
what the father of your father wishes his own father had asked him
I wonder how many generations it's been
of words unsaid

I wonder which ancestor it was who walked in
to some tent revival
I wonder if they ever could have imagined that four generations down
we'd still be trying to survive it

gets in the blood, these things
prophecies and preaching
raising of hands
belief that time or death will not erase us

I used to play the strings
and sing
with all the devotion of a saint
every Wednesday Friday evening
come Sunday morning

speaking of cognitive dissonance
it was like losing several limbs to walk away
speaking of dissent
I know you think otherwise
but I was not trying to make you angry
speaking of dissidents
I promise you, I could not stay
speaking of descendants
I am one
and I get a story too
speaking of trying to make a different end
there are my children
speaking of trying to make a difference
please see that it has cost me

speaking of the great-grandmother of my children's children
speaking of her lineage
speaking of how we all came from something
I from her
she from them
they from all the rest

what started off seeming so new
becomes old
scratch the surface to find
it was always a rotten apple
with a shiny coat of paint

one time the pastor who happened to be my uncle held his hand on my belly in front of the whole church camp congregation, announcing that I would speak in tongues for my first time.
I didn't, but I kind of faked it, I guess.
I was just following instructions, he said open your mouth and let the words fall out, so I did and I did
and I am.