Drag Me Through The Mess

By Jessica Mehta

In Jessica Mehta's tenth book, DRAG ME THROUGH THE MESS uncovers what it means to be an indigenous woman in a society where "NDNs" are seen as fashion accessories at best and obsolete at worst. Each poem grips the reader and reveals a king of honest emotion and telling that's almost unnerving. All the ugliness and hurts of life are explored with a kind of lyrical beauty that causes deep contrasts and juxtapositions. No matter the subject, readers will relate to the work and themes because at the heart of each is a shared experience.

The "mess" of life is one everyone shares, and Mehta touches on emotions and feelings at subcutaneous levels. Inspired by the works of Li-Young Lee, Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, Kim Addonizio, and all the great of confessional poetry, Mehta finds a way to tap into themes we'd rather turn away from and see them with a lens attuned to discovery—and ultimately healing.

DRAG ME THROUGH THE MESS takes the reader on a journey that delves into the darkest parts of the human experience before bringing them into a soothing light. Featuring perfect word choices, strong line breaks, and recurring totems that tie the collection together, Mehta's tenth book is perhaps her strongest. It's a collection that showcases the full spectrum of the human experience that will leave readers saying, "I thought I was the only one." It's beyond confessional because confessions are often shrouded in shame. Here, there's no asking of forgiveness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Unsolicited Press
• Release date: Mar 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393155935

Book preview

For Chintan.

Contents

The First Black Cleopatra

The Falsity of Fast Deaths

Summer in Lorraine

Fingers in the Foxglove

A Consenting Platypus

While Zozobra Burns

Symptoms of an End

The Weight of Secrets

Resurrection

God, Mother

Thanksgiving at Midnight in the Emergency Vet Clinic

When to Stay

Gluttony

Ashiatsu in the Bedroom

Mae Un Tang in Yoga Pants

Pickle Backs

Despair-ity

Crafts with Blunt Edges

Genetically Isolated Since the Ice Age

Emergency Preparedness

Men

Juan G.

The Rose

Eating Like a Bird, It’s Really a Falsity

Namesakes

Morning Pastries

Christmas Chai

Lovely in the Strange

Love You More

Satyavachan

How Dying is Done

Pilot’s Log: Day 23

Genetics

How I Like My Women

Room Enough

Lattes and Labiaplasty

The Temporary Nature of Being

Kitchen Volcanoes

To Break Fast

Recipe for Moong Daal

The Things I Do for You

The Sweet Below the Bitter

What I Found in the Swamp

Saving Room

Something Sweet

Table D'hote

Eating

Still

Drag Me Through the Mess

Good Medicine

The Protagonist

Acknowledgements

About the author

The First Black Cleopatra

This is naked: to stand

on famous stages, boards buffed soft

by white feet in stark

contrast to your amber.

To know you’re not

Cleopatra, but

the first Black Cleopatra. Who cares

about decades of training,

the scars and the hurts? Do this:

remove your wig before throngs

of pale schoolchildren wriggling

in seats. Display your shorn locks,

a caged lion in the ring. Brush off

the shame, pretend it’s a lover

who beckons with satin pillowcases

and says you’re beautiful

with your hair wrapped, all

that natural kink. Strip off

your robe, showcase your body—

stand tall in your nakedness. Let

the spotlights warm your skin.

Hike up your lips, show us

your teeth. Bred good and strong

as a horse. What’s the difference

between this and ancestors

on the auction block? We pay, we prod

we judge, we weigh. Afterward,

playbills rolled in damp hands,

rushings to taxis. And we’ll say

She did good, real good,

that first black Cleopatra.

The Falsity of Fast Deaths

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