by Jen Schneider
in honor of James Longenbach (1959-2022)
“Hold the line, please,” the hospital operator says
and all i can think
/ while waiting, wondering, worrying
—mostly wanting
is this must be how poems get made
Longenbach teaches poetry as the sound
of language (organized in lines)
while physicists teach sound as a type of pressure
/ a wave & not physical matter
& that non-physical matter can’t be held
—but consumed / like a sunburn, a shooting star,
a child’s cry, a first kiss
/ a gust of wind (of a sea)
i inhale / then try
to hold the line
cup my palm / & imagine
coiled elastic compressions
pressure creases
shadow / then settle
i pull / the line pushes
all springs (& senses) engaged
Longenbach writes on a poem’s life & death
/ line, meter, & rhyme all tools of construction
/ danglers & run-ons distanced / some say decried
i cry—unexpectedly /
poetry is like that / “the sound
with punctuated breath & cupped palms,
i consume syllabic beats
for what feels like forever knowing forever
/ despite earthling’s desires / all spiral cords
(& choruses) prone to tangle. all moons cyclical
The operator returns & says, “I’m sorry.
We can’t locate the clerk,” at the same time
an overhead speaker buzzes / sound waves press
i hear, “We can’t locate the lyric.”
—& hang up, wishing to continue to hold the line
Jen Schneider is an educator who lives, writes, and works in small spaces throughout Pennsylvania. Recent works include A Collection of Recollections, Invisible Ink, On Habits & Habitats, and Blindfolds, Bruises, and Breakups.
