by Leah Welborn

Yes, always tragedy to have
gotten there first. A problem
to get anywhere absolutely
from beginning to end,
everything a novelty to fight
against forever.

Lately I’ve been snapped
up into a movie, somebody
else’s poems…left alone,
the moribund slut,
the orotund mutt,
an idler wheel.

(in between things
makes such a big difference,
like it connects everything)

With friends I’m not really
human, but some big mix of
gears. As is everybody.
Like the driver of the screw.

A little afraid I used to be,
watching someone being really
alive. It splits and hurts, and yet I
can’t stop. I wonder why
they all think I’m so sad?

SOURCE: Fiona Apple interview by Matt Diehl, Interview magazine.


NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Fiona Apple’s music has provided the soundtrack for my adult life, as her first album debuted when I was in college. I consider her songwriting to be second only to that of Joni Mitchell, and think she’s been greatly underestimated, in part because of her reputation for being angry and sad (two things women must never be). In reality, she’s grown as a person and an artist since her 1996 debut. I tried to reflect some of that change in “Beyond Fiona’s Rubicon,” while maintaining a sense of the emotional vulnerability at the core of her work. (Photo of Fiona Apple by Sebastian Kim.)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Leah Welborn is a writer/poet who resides in Denver, Colorado, with a small menagerie of animals. Her work has appeared in Mental Floss, Bust, Inked, Poets & Artists, Connotation Press, Contrary, and other publications. Her poem entitled “The Rock” was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She holds an MFA from Antioch University.