Origin Stories - Robbi Nester

    Worst Fear
    by Robbi Nester

    Halfway through the revolving door 
    of prose, I see Poetry disappearing 
    into a crowd. It happens in the old 
    Wanamakers department store 
    on Market Street, in Philadelphia, 
    long since closed. While I am 
    stalled by the throng, she slips
    smoothly by, in her neat
    summer frock, and enters 
    the gilded elevator, where
    she stands, framed, for a second, 
    silent and composed, before 
    ascending forever out of my life.

    Previously published in Aeolian Harp Vol. 6 (Glass Lyre Press)

Origin Stories – Worst Fear

I wrote this poem during a painful period when I was unable to write poetry. I had been trying to expand on prose memoir pieces I had written in the past, trying to turn them into a full memoir. It didn’t work, but worse than that, I could not get my brain to switch back into poetry mode. This poem was my first successful effort to break free of that curse, which seemed to be the punishment of a spurned muse. The scene here is one out of my past, growing up in Philadelphia. At that time, Wanamakers’ department store was a place everyone passed through, arranging to meet friends below the store’s enormous statue of an eagle or at one of its organ concerts or other special events. As a small child, I ice skated on the tiny rink the store opened every Christmas season, stood before the show windows, with their elaborate winter scenes. As a teen and young adult, I spent many a summer day like the one described in this poem in this store, ducking out of the heat and humidity.