The Dot and Line presents a set of poetry about the Pokémon franchise — one of the most important and influential multimedia animated properties of the last two decades. If you were alive in the heyday of Pokémon fandom, we guarantee you will appreciate the references and tenor of these poems by Meg Eden.
Read on, and be sure to catch ’em all.
Pokémania
Back in 1997, a certain episode of the Pokémon anime had a scene that reportedly triggered seizures on hundreds of children, causing some of them to vomit blood or lose consciousness. –Patricia Hernandez, Kotaku
I knew a kid
who died from a seizure —
I think about this
every time I see paka paka:
stars in my eyes, bright
animated sky, a tense moment.
If my father had moved us
to Japan after all,
I might have been
one of those kids in the hospital
after that Porygon episode,
hypnotized. As a girl,
I sang the Pokémon theme song
like the national anthem:
right hand over my heart.
Being a Pokémon trainer
once a week after school
was my relief from change.
Every week, Team Rocket came,
blasted off, and Pikachu was safe.
I needed that pattern. I think
those boys and girls in Japan
needed it too: a break from
a life of entrance exams — no one
tested Ash before he got
his Pokémon. We all dream
of containing our monsters
inside pockets, of being
in control of our lives, our bodies.
I looked at Misty’s flat stomach
with envy, held
my round belly in my hands.
I wanted to think
I could be born again cartoon,
that if I sat close enough
to the TV, it might take me in.
What Still Makes Me Afraid of Lavender Town Is
that after it seemed most everyone
grew up or moved out of town,
after my dog died, after my body
began to bleed & grow hair; &
I had found a place where even
the bug catchers wanted to be my friends
& I could walk everywhere on my own
& everything I saw I could catch
in my pocket & none of the towns
would grow big or rip down the buildings
or change at all; that the monsters
I named & carried & talked to after
lacrosse practice or when I was afraid —
that even though I carried the cartridge
carefully & changed the batteries & did
everything I was supposed to, they too
could still find a way to die & discard me.
This Is Before My Cousin Disappeared in His Room
A boy on the blacktop at recess tells me
that if I fly to Cerulean City three times
with a Slowpoke in my party, a Mew
will interrupt me in the air & engage in battle.
I believe him. There is no
other way of saying this.
When I come over, Devin shows me
the cartridge he bought used at Gamestop:
where all the money is replaced
with flowers, the rare candies
never run out & he has a level 105 Rhydon
that knows two water guns and a sky attack.
This is the last time I ever see him
play a Pokémon game.
I use Gameshark one time, and it transforms
my dragon into a bird with no name, level 100.
The stranger it makes leaves a lake of guilt in me.
Or maybe worse — the fear it might happen again.
At night, I lay staring at the dark wall, imagine
one body transforming into another, a friend
who can become a stranger so quickly.
This is when I still believe everything.
Meg Eden’s work has been published in various magazines, including Rattle, Drunken Boat, Poet Lore, RHINO, and Gargoyle. She teaches at the University of Maryland. She has four poetry chapbooks, and her novel Post-High School Reality Quest is forthcoming June 2017 from California Coldblood, an imprint of Rare Bird Books. Find her online at www.megedenbooks.com or on Twitter at @ConfusedNarwhal.
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