In Parentheses: An Interview with Patricia Powers

Patricia Powers is a contributor to Write-Haus's forthcoming fifth issue, In Parentheses. Her poem, titled "Mom Face Down," explores aging, memory, and modern systems of care.

To begin we asked Patricia a few parenthetical questions — little notes framing the heart of our conversation:

(What is the most unexpected place you’ve made art?
Like many writers, sometimes I think of an idea or a phrase or a word as I’m falling asleep. Most times, I don’t bother to turn on a light, so I guess the most unexpected place is scribbling something down in the dark.)

(When do you do your best writing?
When I’ve had my first cup of coffee and the dog is tucked next to me on the couch.)

(If your piece were a sound, what would it be?
A thump? No, sorry, kidding. Probably silence.)

(What was the first line of your own writing that most resonated with you?
I don’t remember a first line, but I did have a choice in college to write either a term paper or a poem. I loved that I could write a poem and get credit.)

Now, we step outside the parentheses for our interview with Patricia Powers and her poem, “Mom Face Down.”

Where did the inspiration for this piece come from?
My eighty-year-old mom is in an assisted living facility with a neurological disorder. She can't move and is essentially non-verbal, but she's still in there somewhere, some days more than others. While there are some wonderful people that work there, one morning she fell out of bed and was face down on the floor for about one hour before someone found her. (We've since moved her to a different place.)

I think for a lot of people, that subject matter would feel especially difficult to write about, but there also seems to be a humor or lightheartedness to the piece. I imagine many readers will be pretty surprised by the juxtaposition of the topic and the poem's voice. How is it that you're able to take such a challenging situation and write about it from such an unexpected perspective?

I think it helped that this episode didn't end tragically. It was difficult and unfortunate, but it could have been worse. And for me, writing the poem was a way of coping with what happened - putting it in perspective in a way that helped me work through it, helped me process it. But as I write more and more, I see that I am often finding absurdity in the mundane, our daily lives Sometimes, you just have to laugh.

What did you leave out of this piece — either by choice or necessity?
I left out the perspective of people working in the facility. I got to know some of them – many of them are incredibly tender and doing the best they can. But that's a whole other poem or poems.

We had the pleasure of reading a previous version of this poem as well. Can you tell us what led you to feel like the previous version wasn't the final version? When do you know a piece is done?
Earlier versions of this poem ended on the caretaker who found my mom. I put the poem away and came back to it a few times, and with some feedback, I realized that it was a sort of detour. I re-wrote the ending to tighten things up and keep the focus on my mom. The caretaker point of view deserves a poem of its own.

I'm not sure I ever know when a poem is done, but when I've stopped thinking about it, I can move on to write others. I've been shy about getting feedback/workshopping in the past, but it has helped me tremendously.

Were you picturing anyone specific reading or looking at this piece? If so, who?
I always have my siblings in mind, but I was also thinking of other people who have loved ones that are in a facility, or who are taking care of themselves.

Parentheses often hold contradictions or second thoughts. What contradiction lives inside your work right now?
I think in this poem it’s more about second thoughts than contradictions. It’s about remembering that she had an entire history of life – all these people do – but sometimes the routine takes over in these facilities, and what becomes important is the most basic care.

Do you feel your work says something different in the margins than it does on the surface?
Well, I’m playing a bit with the idea of things coming to a close, her voice, her body, but also perhaps what value has been placed on her as a mother.

If you could add a new parenthetical to your piece five years from now, what do you imagine it would say?
It would probably be a sort of epilogue to the heavy aspect, something around weightlessness, a sort of opening up after the closing.

Just before we said goodbye, we asked for a few closing asides — a little postscript in parentheses.

(Is there anything you wanted to say before now but didn’t?
Nothing, I’m the youngest of five kids – I have a big mouth!)

(What is a memory you keep in parentheses?
My mom in our small kitchen on early school mornings.)

(What are three words you hope readers remember from your piece?
Intention, tipped, fragments)

(If your work had a secret soundtrack, what would it be?
For this poem: Simon & Garfunkel)

Pre-order your copy of “In Parentheses” to read Patricia’s poem alongside other works of poems, prose, and visual art, and follow Patricia on Instagram @theaccessiblepoet.