I’m Not Carmen Mola & I haven’t Won a Prize

    I’m not Carmen Mola that everyone until now thought was a married female professor, living in Madrid, and who won the Planeta Prize. It turns out that the writer is three men. (New York Times, Sunday, October 31, 2021, Vol. CLXXI, No. 59,228, page 4.)
    Don’t fuss too much. Look here, just like in a supernatural story, a spirit can manifest itself and write a novel or other written work. There have been Twilight Zone episodes where Shakespeare is brought back to life etc., and other similar devices. The “conceit” is sometimes necessary to write a fictional character in first-person.
    So, indulge me. I have escaped from the blog-novel “The Blog That Would Destroy the World,” in order to write poetry. So has my friend Diane. I am the temporary High Priestess, an ordinary female Dictator.
    This is just a friendly reminder that the narrator of a poem is not necessarily the same as the author, just like the characters in a play are not the same as the actors. It is said by my followers that “She is a fair Dictator, and a great poetess, but we don’t like her foreign name, “Zawmb’yee,” because it is hard to pronounce, and she doesn’t say it out loud herself.”

The Frizz of My Hair
    By Zawmb’yee Nuje

There has been
a maple syrup rain in my dreams
a downpour of sweet premises
a thick and sticky bane

I am soaked by the night,
but my day is dry
with dissertations and speeches

Applause is due me
but I sob in the morning dew

I try to never sleep, but
I see a baby in her arms.
She loves him as do I, and
he drowns in maple syrup rain.

I proclaim the sweetness of the faith
that all must obey, but

he has been my lover
a rebel
her baby
my baby
a blasphemer.

He’s been executed for
the sweetness of the faith.

I am soaked in downpours of blood
frazzled by the night and
I scream

cut like a maple tree
used and drained for sweetness