Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz

July 6, 2023

“Op-Ed for the Sad Sack Review …” by Cristin O’Keefe AptowiczPosted by

Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz

OP-ED FOR THE SAD SACK REVIEW, REGARDING NEWS OF ANOTHER RASH OF WRITER SUICIDES

In a fit of gloom, I googled the word failure,
just to see if my name would come up. Instead,
Google told me I misspelled the word failure.

Recounting this makes me feel like I’m starting
a very weepy poem, or a very dull suicide note.
Never begin a wedding toast with the dictionary

definition of marriage, and never begin a suicide
note by saying you googled the word failure.
These days, the number one thing preventing me

from killing myself is likely the idea of people
learning of my suicide via Facebook status updates.
There’s no dignity in that eulogy, its collections

of sad face emoticons, studded with apostrophe tears.
This is a dumb reason to keep living, but it is a reason.
I’m sure all you other sad sacks have your reasons too.

So let’s all cling to them. Let’s all agree that living
for a dumb reason is better than killing yourself
for a dumb reason. Let’s feed tears to the dragons

of misery, but let’s never crawl into their mouths.
Let’s write terrible poetry, dress like late-era Rothkos,
wear out the relentless hate machines of our brains,

but let’s never break. Let’s just keeping living. We can
do this. Trust me. Yours Sincerely, Me, A Poet Who
Doesn’t Even Know How to Spell the Word Failure.

—from Rattle #34, Winter 2010

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Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz: “‘Op-Ed For the Sad Sack Review…’ was inspired, as the full title suggests, by a series of suicides that hit our community in 2008 and 2009. On the Best American Poetry blog, poet Jennifer Michael Hecht pointed out that ‘[o]ne of the best predictors of suicide is knowing a suicide,’ postulating that ‘every suicide is also a delayed homicide.’ At the time, I was feeling rather low, having experienced an epic number of career-stopping rejections without any signs of relief on the horizon. But Hecht’s essay reminded me I was part of a larger community, one that has never been guaranteed the easiest road in life, but is nonetheless beautiful and filled with people absolutely worthy of good and long lives. And if Hecht is right, the best way that we can prevent the poets and writers we love from killing themselves, is to make the promise to ourselves to keep living. And hence, my ‘Op-Ed’: a loving shout into, and hopefully out of, that void.” (web)

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December 24, 2022

“At the Office Holiday Party” by Cristin O’Keefe AptowiczPosted by

Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz

AT THE OFFICE HOLIDAY PARTY

I can now confirm that I am not just fatter
than everyone I work with, but I’m also fatter
than all their spouses. Even the heavily bearded
bear in accounting has a lithe otter-like boyfriend.

When my co-workers brightly introduce me
as “the funny one in the office,” their spouses
give them a look which translates to, Well, duh,
then they both wait for me to say something funny.

A gaggle of models comes shrieking into the bar
to further punctuate why I sometimes hate living
in this city. They glitter, a shiny gang of scissors.
I don’t know how to look like I’m not struggling.

Sometimes on the subway back to Queens,
I can tell who’s staying on past the Lexington stop
because I have bought their shoes before at Payless.
They are shoes that fool absolutely no one.

Everyone wore their special holiday party outfits.
It wasn’t until I arrived at the bar that I realized
my special holiday party outfit was exactly the same
as the outfits worn by the restaurant’s busboys.

While I’m standing in line for the bathroom,
another patron asks if I’m there to clean it.

—from Rattle #32, Winter 2009

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Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz: “I find that if I write honestly about an experience which was really horrible and uncomfortable, it will have the pleasant aftermath of coming out as pretty funny. I love poetry’s ability to show me that my worst experiences are usually much more surreally absurd and humorous than I had ever realized when I was living them.” (web)

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December 1, 2013

“Things That Happen During Pet Sitting …” by Cristin O’Keefe AptowiczPosted by

Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz

THINGS THAT HAPPEN DURING PET-SITTING I REMIND MYSELF ARE NOT METAPHORS FOR MY HEART

The dog refuses to eat. I keep filling her bowl
anyway: new kibble on top of old, hoping
that it will suddenly becoming tempting.

When I write, the cat watches me from a chair.
When I look at him, he purrs loudly, leans forward
so that I might touch him. I don’t.

Now the dog refuses to come out of her cage,
no matter what I say, no matter how wide I open
the door. She knows that I am not her master.

On the couch, the cat crawls on top of me
and loves me so hard, his claws draw blood.
I was so lonely, I did nothing to stop it.

There are lights in this house I want to turn on,
but I can’t find their switches. Outside, an engine
turns and turns in the night, but never catches.

—from Rattle #40, Summer 2013

[download audio]

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Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz: “Last year was a tough one for me and I am grateful for the poets whose work pulled me through it, among them Kevin Young, Bob Hicok, James Hearst, Sharon Olds, Jennifer L. Knox, Shanny Jean Maney, Matt Cook and Jim Daniels. If my poetry offers even half the tender comfort, sweet understanding and/or hard laughs these poets pulled from me, I would high-five the moon.” (web)

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