"The Wrong Kind of Attention", David Kellogg
CW: Mention of Death
So my aunt died, and that same day I walked
Down the street and back, from house to house,
Telling the news to strangers on my block,
Pretending I had something to disclose,
A child with a secret, although that secret was
Secret only to me, and utterly revealed
To all who heard me transform death to news
And private grief (not mine) to something sold
For their attention. I’d tried the same before
When, having netted a huge frog out back,
I bucketed that pulsing mass for an hour,
Then cupped it in my palms to show. The very sac
Of eggs that made it bloat now spoiled my plans.
A thousand staring eyes filled up my hands.
/ David Kellogg has fewer memories of his childhood than he should; this poem includes two of them. He is Associate Professor of English at Coastal Carolina University. For seven years (2010-2016), he spent the summer months teaching scientific writing at NUS, where he fell in love with Singapore poetry.
/ COMMENTARY
“This poem cleverly reflects on how we turn the things that happen to us privately into public information without much consideration for the consequences of doing so in a pre-internet age. It’s a good reminder that our news is not always news or even ours to share. ”