Emma Stapleton recently returned to writing after a 10 year hiatus. Most recently her work poem ‘Once’ was published in WA Poets Poetry d’Amour anthology. Previously her short story ‘Turtle’ won first prize in the Yarra City ‘Don’t Let Gambling Take Over’ writing competition, and she had a creative non-fiction piece published in Bettymag. She lives in Naarm (Melbourne).

You can find Emma on Threads and Instagram.

It’s almost the end of October. Halloween is around the corner. Winter is sneaking up on us. And this is the last issue of Subtext for October! Welcome to Issue 9. In this issue, I’ll be discussing a wonderful poem by Emma Stapleton called “Every Which Way but Clear.” And I think, with that, we can jump right in.

If you want your work featured, or know someone you’d love to see featured, you can email me, tag me on Threads or Instagram, or use the form on my contact page here on my website.

Before I begin really getting into this piece, I want to take a moment to just talk about it in general. I talked about this some on Threads, but it’s worth repeating here. The first thing that really grabbed me about this poem was the title: “Every Which Way but Clear.” That title says a lot, just right off the bat. It immediately sets up some expectations for this poem. Essentially, this will not be clear. It’s going to be cloudy, obfuscated, obtuse, opaque. There likely will not be a clear resolution. It’s going to go every which way but clear. And I really like how the title starts the poem with those expectations, and it ends with them as well. Because the title is the final line of the poem.

And this circular nature of the poem is very reminiscent of the type of relationship described within the poem. It feels like a relationship that is at a crossroads. With betrayal. A rebound. A one night stand? When you stand at a crossroads, there are many directions to go and each one is a different path, a different choice, and a different outcome. Or beginning. Or, even an end. I love how this poem embraces the raw feelings and the confusion and the desperation of the speaker. The poem even outright addresses that in the “awkward kind of sadness.” The very second line of the poem. I remember just having to sit with this piece for a moment the first time I read it. It took some time to digest. There’s a lot at stake here. And an ache.

This piece is also about power. Control. The word choice throughout the poem leads me to read it that way, largely because of the emphasis on the “you” in this poem. And how the speaker kind of defers: “Your bed,” “I’m waiting,” “Your bedroom floor,” “You leave me.” In this type of relationship, that type of language is appropriate. It feels believable and adds to the ache of the piece. And it gives us that final, separate stanza of the poem, where the speaker is left standing, alone.

But, before we get to the end, the poem begins with a question. A question that calls the whole relationship into question. A question that suggests the relationship is over before we even get into the poem and get into the rest of the conflict.

If I share your bed tonight
Will the morning bring an awkward kind of sadness?
Because I’m aware of the rules in these situations,
And I don’t want to get caught up in some kind of
Desperation.

We step into this poem with the speaker when they are at their crossroads. It’s easy to imagine what causes them to ask that initial question. A phone call from an ex. A conversation over a dinner where reconciliation is the main course on the table. The offer of a one night stand. The final closing act of a dying relationship. Either way you look at it, sex is the question. But the question is really what does the sex mean at this point? One line makes it apparent that this is not the start of courtship or the evolution of a friendship. Or, maybe it is the evolution of a friendship and the worry that comes with the transition to sexual partners: lovers. “Will the morning bring an awkward kind of sadness?” At first read, I thought this was potentially an ex trying to have that one last night together with the speaker. It could be the shift from friend to lover. Because that can drastically change the dynamic of the relationship. Sex tends to do that.

However, it’s the lines after this that make me shift back to the ex. The relationship ending. Because the speaker is “aware of the rules in these situations, / and I don’t want to get caught up in some kind of / desperation.” Yet, again, I can’t help but feel this could be about a friendship. A friend trying to push past the barrier of friendship to become something more. To introduce sex into the mix. The word “rules” runs around in my head, and for some reason I’m struggling to articulate, it changes the whole read of the poem. It makes the whole situation seem almost…transactional. “The rules in these situations.” It also implies a substantial history between the speaker and the “you” of the poem. Really, if this was some kind of one night stand, I feel like the rules would be different. And there wouldn’t be the taste of sadness. That there would be a stronger sense of compulsion and lust. The desire to consume each other in passion. (To be fair, I’ve never had a one night stand, so I could be way off here.) But I don’t get that impression here. As I’ve said, I get a much stronger read on an ex or a friend-to-lover situation.

I talked earlier about power and control. And how I get hints of that throughout Emma’s poem. You can feel the resistance and hesitation in these first lines. “If I share…I don’t want.” I can picture this conversation. Imagine, a couple sitting at a table at a restaurant. One, head slightly down, generally avoiding eye contact with their partner at the table. The other, more upright, more sure of themselves. More animated. You can see it. And you can tell that one is more invested than the other. Either trying to be convinced of a last night of fun together, or taking the friendship to the next level, to see what will happen. Like, one person is so desperately in lust with the other, that the desire for sex outweighs the more logical and reasoned approach of saving a friendship. And you can very much feel the resistance from the speaker. “I don’t want to get caught up in some kind of / desperation.” Again, this feels like it works for either an ex or a friend.

And there’s a bit of a shift in the poem. A little more insight.

Where I’m waiting for you to give me a little slice
Of what you give away so freely to every knock on
The door.

This next part of the poem continues from the line about desperation and it explains the desperation. It also provides more insight into the relationship of the speaker and the “you” in the poem. “Waiting for you to give me a little slice.” This shift changes the dynamic of the poem, the dynamic of the relationship. Friend, ex, whatever doesn’t seem to matter as much here. Because the attraction is soured by what the speaker constantly sees in their partner/friend. The slice line is such a fantastic line, and I love how Emma used the word “slice” for it. It makes it feel transactional. Impersonal. Like the speaker is waiting for scraps. And holy hell what a way to frame sex and attention here, right? A slice.

But the twisting knife, the lemon in the papercut. The ache and the hurt and the betrayal continues. Emma pushes it even further. “A little slice / of what you give away so freely to every knock on / the door.” This poisons whatever good will is left in the relationship. Again, this is what pushes me towards a friend wanting to change the dynamic of the relationship. The attraction may be mutual, at least a little bit. But it’s soured and poisoned for the speaker because they know what the friend traditionally does in relationships. Meaningless one night stands. Giving themselves away to anyone that asks. So, the meaning and value of the relationship dissolves. How can you establish a romantic and real relationship with someone that has shown you, time and time again, that that is not what they value.

So, when they express romantic interest, you are “aware of the rules in these situations.” And that creates an ache that is hard to fix. To be in love and intimate with someone that doesn’t value the relationship the same way you do. To have (potentially) made that leap of faith, only to realize you were just another notch in the bedpost to them, that they were more than happy to add. And then to move on. To continue on as if nothing happened and nothing had changed. That is a betrayal that cuts so deep. Deeper still because the other person doesn’t know why it cuts so deep. You were a conquest. A mercy. A favor.

But the speaker takes back the power. Makes a statement and says, “No.”

It’s not going to be my dress strewn haphazardly
On your bedroom floor.
It will not be your hands that make me raw.

I realize I said that the speaker takes power back here. Is kind of making that statement and saying, “No.” I sat here for several minutes, reading that sentence over again while reading Emma’s lines. I’m writing this, I could go back and change it, delete it. But I figured I’d leave my thought process here. Because as I reread and thought about how to start this paragraph, I realized that those three lines aren’t really about taking power back. They are about desperation. They are about the speaker not wanting to “get caught up in some kind of / desperation.”

Also, a brief aside, but I really enjoy how Emma chose to incorporate her line breaks in this poem. Breaking on “of” to let desperation be a line all by itself. That really draws attention to that word and the feeling. That allows it to sit in the reader’s mind with great importance. Because it is an important word and emotion. It’s the root of the poem. And then again, with “every knock on,” Emma makes what is typically that unconventional choice to end a line with “on.” But I love how that line break is like the swing of the door. It forces you to the next line, like the “you” in the poem is opening the door for you, but not for the speaker. It’s an intentional and powerful choice I thought was worth mentioning.

Back to those three lines about the strewn dress and rawness. Reading through them again you can really get that sense of desperation. Because at one read, those lines are about the speaker making the choice to not be going through the door and having sex with the friend/ex/you. It initially seems like taking power back. But when I read it again, and read through the desperation line and the door I realized it was something else. It is a continuation of that desperation and sadness. The realization that it’s not going to be the speaker’s dress on the floor. And I like how Emma framed that, with strewn and haphazard on the floor. Because that suggests a different kind of desperation: lust and passion. Which the speaker is not experiencing. Which is what hit me when I read those lines again. The speaker is not experiencing that. It is not her dress on the floor, because it’s not her. It’s not necessarily that she doesn’t want it to be. Regardless of that, it isn’t. It’s someone else. Another woman. Another friend? Or just another knock looking for a slice.

The final line of that first stanza: “It will not be your hands that make me raw.” This also reads differently, with the idea of desperation and the knowledge it will be another woman the friend’s hands are on, are making raw. Raw could be good or bad. Raw in the throes of passion. Or raw as in used and discarded. I actually see it both ways at the same time here. The first being the jealousy of the speaker. The second being the realization that she would be another used and discarded conquest.

So, I wrote that sentence about taking power back. But that’s not what actually happened here. Or even happens anywhere in the poem. The subject of the poem, the “you,” remains the one with the power. And that’s even how Emma ends the poem.

You leave me with an insubstantial kind of fear,
Standing here –
And it’s every which way but clear.

Emma certainly knows how to end a poem. I love the image of “an insubstantial kind of fear.” Because fear is kind of an insubstantial thing already, right? But when you think about what insubstantial means, this ending shifts and it really ties into the title and final line of the poem. It’s not fear that’s hard to pin down or define. It’s “an insubstantial kind.” Which, by definition, means this is a fear that is not enough or not strong enough. And isn’t that just a smack upside the head? It was for me when I really sat down and thought about it.

The speaker is not afraid enough. She is not left with enough fear, which only adds to the confusion and heartache and despair. And she’s left “standing here – / and it’s every which way but clear.” Because even knowing what she does, all of the conflict and questions and awareness of the rules? It’s still not clear what her choice should be. She remains at a crossroads, torn by the what if’s and could be’s and would be’s of “if I share your bed tonight.”

Emma, I appreciate you allowing me to feature your poem for this issue of Subtext. I’ve always enjoyed seeing your poetry, and I look forward to reading more!