MY FIRST POEM

My first poem was an elegy for Chris Farley
I was in ninth grade and had been given the assignment
By Ms. Weems who had a bob and a gentle voice
She said an elegy is a poem written for someone who has died
When I was a child I watched the movie Tommy Boy

Maybe one million times and I watched Black Sheep
An inferior Tommy Boy with no Dan Akroyd
If I’d watched Tommy Boy already that day
Sometimes I watched a Chris Farley tape my mom had
Which was part of an SNL 25th anniversary box set

The box contained one video for each of ten former cast members
We had Gilda Radner John Belushi Will Farrell etc
But I only loved Chris Farley and when I was little
Someone mentioned he was dead and I couldn’t understand that at all
This person was the most vibrant person I’d ever seen

In Ms. Weems’ class we were learning about poetry
Everyone hated it but I didn’t exactly hate it
I just didn’t understand what the purpose of it was
And why people had once at some earlier time written it
I truly didn’t know that people still did it

I thought we were studying some weird thing that once happened
As a formality almost a history lesson much like our reading of Caesar
I chose to write my first poem in five-line stanzas
I chose a random number which seemed alright
Because one thing we learned was these poems had arbitrary structures

But that the structures were extremely important
I wouldn’t write a poem in five line stanzas anymore
They look staid and also bloated, but I remember that’s what I did
Miss Weems’ classroom was in the senior building
Even though she only taught 9th grade

Her classroom was next door to Coach Campbell’s room
He taught advanced math classes like Calculus 1 and 2
I was advanced in math so I also had Coach Campbell that year
It was the year before the hurricane hit, when some teachers,
Including Coach Campbell would have to live in FEMA trailers at the school

But I wrote my Chris Farley poem in 9th grade
My grandmother had died but I didn’t really know her
My mom’s brother was murdered by his wife in his backyard
My dad’s brother was killed by a drunk driver
But I didn’t know them either

When Ms. Weems said an elegy is a poem for a person who died
I thought immediately of Chris Farley, who I knew intimately
And whose death really confused me when I was little because
I knew his voice and he made me laugh so he had to be alive
What I’m saying is I wasn’t trying to be funny

It wasn’t a funny poem
I decided in writing this elegy for Chris Farley
I needed to really face his death so I got on the internet
In my childhood bedroom with lavender walls
And found photos of his dead body on the floor of his hotel room

It was very easy to find photos of dead bodies online
I think I was on a website specifically made for this purpose
Where you could search up the death photos of dead celebrities
It wasn’t a funny poem at all
I decided I’d face his death by staring at these photos

I remember his skin was purple and shiny
He laid on the carpeted ground with his head near the hotel door
In my memory he was fully clothed
He was wearing a suit
It’s possible I put him in the suit in my memory only

In my memory there is a wire around his neck but that’s not likely
I thought I should stare at the photos until I cried
I think this had something to do with the idea that poetry was about feelings
In the poem I described the photo and lamented his death
I recalled scenes of his which made me happy

Coach Campbell kept photos of girls on his desk
Girls he had taught who had gone to college
He had his girls and he chose them early and I was one of them
The girls he chose were smart girls who were good at math
He sometimes brought out an acoustic guitar and sang Jim Croce songs for us

After the hurricane he got staph infection in his lungs
The girls he had chosen cried and cried thinking he was dying
And actually he almost did die
And when he came back to school we were so happy
I got staph infection in my knee joint shortly after that

I showed up in his classroom doorway sobbing and he hugged me
I thought I was going to die and I was somehow connected to him
Through staph infection but then everyone started getting it
Because we lived in an unbelievably contaminated disaster area
He told me that he was excited for me to leave this place

He told me he knew I didn’t belong there and that made me feel good
I didn’t think there was anything wrong with this man having his girls
I was happy to be one of them and I still am and I think he chose us
Because he didn’t have any kids and he wanted a daughter
So I was happy to be his daughter for four years but now I see it was odd

Anyway when I was writing the Chris Farley poem
I found it so weird and creepy writing a poem I didn’t even want to tell my mom
It felt like the most pointless thing I could do
But I took the assignment seriously because I took everything seriously
Even if writing a poem felt like an explicitly wrong thing to do

I mean it felt like I was literally doing something bad
I wonder if I loved Chris Farley so much because I was also fat
And knew that I was very funny and had a very good imagination
In any case I turned in the poem and it must have been good enough
But I distinctly remember feeling like I’d committed some kind of crime

I thought it was best if we kept poetry in the past
And maybe grateful I’d had the disgusting experience of trying it
And I’d remember it and it bothered me every so often over the years
I kept thinking about what I’d done that one time and how dumb it was
You have to understand I never did anything dumb

Whatever anyone wanted me to do I did it perfectly and precisely
I did whatever I even assumed people wanted me to do
Like if I got even the slightest hint someone wanted me to do something
Then I made this weird thing that nobody could possibly want and I felt
Very alive and creepy and mysterious and finally I started doing it all the time