Poem of the Ages: KRISTIN PETERSON'S "We Whisper in the Men's Latrine"

Kristin Peterson's (poet, director, producer, screenwriter) latest published poem "We Whisper in the Men's Latrine" is up on Rogue Agent - and like many poems it is a vehicle. The road trip this piece takes is through lover's beds -

reaching a brand new nest, opulent
with semen-so-silly      

(isn't that just a lovely combination? Never thought I'd see those words paired together) - and sound, both inside and out -

who will be the first one to
forget our inside chyme?
who will mew the good-bye
phrase?

In her poem she manages to map out a terrain where somehow two lovers have failed each other. Somehow, too, she digs up roots of time-sorrow that capture moments we freeze in our heads endlessly - to be thawed out and crystallized again, playing with what could have been -

and me: pancake errors, microwave s’mores,
                     all with passive verb tenses
with belated c’mere’s in never-ending prepositional phrases


Like many poems it is a vehicle - and unlike many poems it is a weather forecast, balancing between cold and hot. Her play with high diction paired with low creates a feeling of being a foreigner in a home country. When she writes -

hopscotches up my             arms
casinos, a regimen of the dating scene, insider smack-toothed gardening,
a cubicle, a rave pantry, tribal paint
in my trigeminal nerve   (the chewing,
biting, swallowing nerve) now, crazy
straw doubling my belly

I know I've been here, and that I've never been here at all. Kristin's narrator is a kaleidoscope of melancholy and what could have been, as well as a tongue savoring the crips moments of love we find after stilling our brain, to think with our gut.