There used to be a fence attached to this gate.
One day, I noticed that the fence had disappeared, but the gate stood alone.
This morning, while my husband was working on home maintenance, he asked whether I was attached to the gate, or whether he could take it down.
“It’s a metaphor,” I said. “I’m not sure yet to what, but it’s a metaphor.”
He said, “Okay, you can keep the metaphor.” He is understanding, and he understands that he is married to a poet.
I need to understand that if I use a gate in a poem as a metaphor, you’re going to see the gate first.
I recently brought to a workshop a poem called “Self-Storage.” First, I had other titles involving cows or the absence of cows and an abundance of buttercups. I was thinking about storage and hit upon the idea of self-storage, then quickly looked up Rebecca Hoogs’s marvelous poem (in her book by the same name), to make sure that it was different enough to avoid any idea that I could possibly, ever, copy (I couldn’t and wouldn’t, and if you haven’t read her book yet, there’s no time like now).
Okay, that might have been a digression.
Back to it: I meant the idea of storage in a metaphorical way (I talk about a cardboard box in the closet), but people immediately—and understandably—pictured the actual rows of units with the steel doors that roll up. Of course they did. We haven’t even gotten into the poem, and that’s what I’ve given them.
What I learned: The metaphor jumps off from the physical (just as a simile does), so I need to be sure that I’m putting people where I want them to jump.