National Poetry Month Day 20: “Google Search: ‘Julie Marie Wade'” by Julie Marie Wade

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Google Search: “Julie Marie Wade”

I am dead in Mississippi—
dead & Catholic.

A cheerleading coach who passed suddenly on
Wednesday night from “causes unknown.”

In Oxford, they mourn with a funeral mass,
send flowers to the family that survives me.

In Grace, I am a certified flight instructor
eager to help you earn your small-plane pilot’s license.

I am bankrupt in Huntington with Christine Michelle.
We owe almost two hundred grand.

In Russell Springs, Kentucky, I’m a plain name
caught in the ever-updating slaw of the digital White Pages.

In Bologna, an English instructor at the University.
My students seem to like me well enough on ratemyprofessor.com.

Somewhere, perhaps, I am also the daughter my
parents wanted, my name changed now to my husband’s,

making me that much harder to find. I am so busy with
the PTA & the garden club I hardly have the time to go online.

But in Galveston, a meek housewife no longer.
Bear witness to the fuck-you face of my grainy mug shot.

I’m guilty of capias pro fine—when a defendant defaults
on some binding agreement with the municipal powers that be.

One way or another, I think I’ve been guilty of
capias pro fine all my life.

In Ultimate Clear Lake, Texas, a report of aggravated
assault lists me simply, at 49, as “the victim.”

Julie Marie Wade


Original poetry published by The Rumpus. More from this author →