From the personal to the universal: “315 C”
by Kristin Roedell
Writing poetry can be hard work. Somehow this seems unromantic; one feels that poetry should flow straight from the emotional center to the page in flourishing script. More often a poem begins with a good line and is built around it like the infrastructure of a skyscraper. My poem “315 C,” which was published in the Fall 2012 issue of VoiceCatcher: a journal of women’s voices & visions, was like that.
Although it went through many revisions, this poem began with a single experience that moved me. My daughter and I visited friends in Cheney, Washington, a very small town on the outskirts of Spokane. I failed to book a hotel in advance and the only spot in town with rooms available was seedy and run down. I rented a room and, as my daughter and I went in, a group of young men smoking beside the stairs watched her stretch her arms and yawn. I suddenly realized that the time when I could protect her as a child was passing away. That experience germinated and “315 C” was born. Over time, the experience became something more than that single event; it became a metaphor for my history and my understanding of what it means to be a woman.
315 C
The sign said W LL W SPR GS,
a nod to the muddy creek bed
where autumn leaves
floated like dead spiders,
bellies and legs to the moon.
It was the only hotel in town
that tolerated dogs –
with a pet deposit
management turned a blind eye
to its balding carpets.
At ten past, the street lights
cast parabolas
in the littered parking lot.
My daughter slept in the back
folded like an origami bloom,
dreaming dragons and fireflies.
Our collie had chewed through
the Mercedes floor mats
until bits of rug clung to her fur
like dandelion seeds.
There was a battered card stuck
to the office desk, tape curling:
HOURLY RATES, CASH ONLY.
My daughter yawned her way
into 315 C, her hair matted
on the left side, skirting the rain
channeled by a broken gutter.
Boys slouched with hoods
pulled over ball caps,
and watched her.
Their cigarettes made scarlet
A’s in the dark.
In the night, I counted the freckled
constellations on her back.
I thought long about what leads women
with unerring aim
towards the inhospitable;
no faith withstands it.
My daughter slept
folded into sharp corners;
she dreamt that hope fragments.
The rising sun kindled the scales
of dragons still gathered outside.
In order to be objective about my poetry, I take myself “out” of the piece, and think of it as narrated by another woman with her own feelings, history and experience; she observes and learns individually. Each poem should begin with concrete details to draw the reader in through sight, smell, taste and sound. With this in mind, “315 C” immediately reveals the undesirable character of the hotel with the missing letters on its sign:
The sign said:
W LL W SPR GS
The poem continues to illustrate this with a muddy creek filled with dead leaves, balding carpets, a littered parking lot, a curling sign in the office, the broken gutter and the fact that the hotel rents by the hour. Clearly, this hotel is unsafe. This picture is core to the development of the poem, as we also learn very quickly that the narrator still views her daughter as a child:
My daughter slept in the back
folded like an origami bloom,
dreaming dragons and fireflies.
Nevertheless, the poem suggests that the boys who watch her daughter do not view her this way. These boys are hooded, creating a sense of menace:
Boys slouched with hoods
pulled over ball caps,
and watched her.
The next lines –
Their cigarettes made scarlet
A’s in the dark –
refer to The Scarlet Letter by Nathanial Hawthorne. This novel labels its heroine as an adulteress, requiring that she wear the letter “A.” The reference is one of sexual danger and misconduct, which is what the narrator fears. The desire of the “boys” in the poem is inconsistent with her belief in the childlike nature of her daughter. It is the transition of this belief that is core to the poem as the narrator comes to understand her daughter is becoming a woman – and reaching sexual maturity is dangerous:
I thought long about what leads women
with unerring aim
towards the inhospitable;
no faith withstands it.
She watches over her daughter through the night, unable to protect her either from her disturbing dreams, or the sexual danger that exists outside the room and outside her influence. The poem closes with this sense of loss.
she dreamt that hope fragments.
The rising sun kindled the scales
of dragons still gathered outside.
After the first draft of “315 C,” I let it sit for a while. I usually wait a few weeks after I write a poem, then come back to it. I hope to gain enough distance to be a reader rather than a writer, and I’m usually able to see what needs revising. One of the points that benefited most from revision was changing the title. It began as “315 A,” but VoiceCatcher’s editors pointed out that the “scarlet letter” should be emphasized by using it only in reference to the menacing boys.
I think the most powerful part of “315 C” is the last stanza, as it is the most personal. After I wrote the poem, I became objective enough to realize that my fear and sadness are present in my relationship with my daughter. I became willing to change that. I always write as if I am the only person who will read my poem, and then I look for the courage to let it go. It’s like letting a child go; one hopes it will be treated with kindness.
When your poem finds readers, there will be a shift from the particular to the universal. The poem will mean something new to each reader; this is what gives it value. The reader should have the “ah-ha” experience, a moment when the events the poet narrates touch some part of the reader’s own story. The poem becomes illuminated by this commonality. In a way, it writes and rewrites itself as each reader relates to the poem’s content in a unique way. I imagine this as casting seed over fertile ground. It’s even possible that a writer may be inspired by a part of your experience, and that another, more rare poem will take root and flower.
Welcome to the latest article in our Writers on Writing series, where authors share how they do what they do: Find inspiration, create drafts, make choices on how – and what – to add, subtract, revise. In this series, each author will offer insights into her creative process that we hope will inspire your own.
Kristin Roedell graduated from Whitman College (B.A. English,1984) and the University of Washington Law School (J.D., 1987). Her poetry has been published in over sixty journals and books including Switched on Gutenberg, Ginosko, JAMA, Damselflypress, Eclectica, Ekphrasis, Tacoma City Arts, and VoiceCatcher5. She is the author of two chapbooks: Seeing in the Dark (Tomato Can Press, 2009), and Girls with Gardenias (Flutter Press, 2012). Her third book is forthcoming from Legal Forum, a press publishing poetry by lawyers. She has been nominated for Best of the Web and the Pushcart Prize.