Poem

Against Self-Pity

Against Self-Pity


By Rita Dove

(posted Wednesday, Sept. 9, 1998)

To hear the poet read “Against Self-Pity,” click here.

It gets you nowhere but deeper into
your own shit–pure misery a luxury
one never learns to enjoy. There’s always some

meatier malaise, a misalliance ripe
to burst: soften the mouth to a smile and
it stutters; laugh, and your drink spills onto the wake

of repartee gone cold. Oh, you know
all the right things to say to yourself: Seize
the day, keep the faith, remember the children

starving in India … the same stuff
you say to your daughter
whenever a poked-out lip betrays

a less than noble constitution. (Not that
you’d consider actually going to India–all
those diseases and fervent eyes.) But if it’s

not your collapsing line of credit, it’s
the scream you let rip when a centipede
shrieks up the patio wall. And that

daughter? She’ll find a reason to laugh
at you, her dear mother. Poor thing
wouldn’t harm a soul!
she’ll say, as if

she knew of such things–
innocence, and a soul smart enough to know
when to get out of the way.