You would probably recognize Amber Tamblyn if you saw her. She is in Joan of Arcadia, the Traveling Pants movies, and House. What you might not know is that she is a pretty busy poet. I didn’t know that, either. On Saturday, I was walking around in the library, and I found her newest book. Bang Ditto. I’m going to type out a couple of the poems because (1) they are great and (2) I am gambling that no legal team will try to sue me since I’m also trying to get people to buy this book.
Tweet by Amber Tamblyn
Look @ all of u. Tweeting twits. Relishing in the whoredom of immediacies.
You’ve evacuated yr brains. Lazy sleuths. I am sad 4 yr pens.
In a New York Mugging by Amber Tamblyn
Memories of you
run in gangs all over
this twinkle shit city.
I don’t walk alone,
afraid they’ll mug me.
Once on Essex Street
one of them crept up behind me
“GIMME ALL YOUR EMOTIONAL PROGRESS!”
“OPEN YOUR PURSE AND EMPTY OUT YOUR FEELINGS!”
I opened the purse,
emptied out the feelings.
Self-esteem rolled into a gutter,
closure dropped to the cement and shattered.
Slipped guilt into my sleeve,
I always manage to save it.
Grief, insomnia, and depression
cowered in the zipper of my pocket lining.
They always manage to save themselves.
My recovery efforts,
all of them,
“TAKE OFF THOSE KISSES I GAVE YOU!
WHAT’S IN YOUR POCKET? A PROMISE?
GIMME THAT SHIT, TOO.”
I reached in my pockets but
there were no crisp promises,
just a bunch of loose moments and lint.
A punch to the stomach crippled me forward.
“GET ON THE GROUND, FACE DOWN.”
I got on the ground,
let it hog-tie me,
me pelvis gnawing at the ground
a soft drill.
My left cheek garnished the Earth,
grated against will.
A cracking kick to the ribs
by a hard, steel-toed break-up
and a consolation friendship
hawked on the back of my head
for good measure.
I lay there,
face in the piss and tears
of all the aftermath in the world,
shoes scuffed from all the years
I tried to climb into his affection
and tap dance.
I stared at the passing ants.
“Please … help me.”