Prompt 281. Butterfly, Flying Home

& the poet Monica Rico on superheroes and song lyrics

Jazz lessons with Jon, circa 2018

Hi friend,

I’m writing this missive midweek, before I pack my bags and fly to Los Angeles, where I’ll meet up with my husband Jon to attend the Grammys. It’s another full-circle moment. Two years ago, when Jon was last nominated, I tried to convince my oncologist to let me go. I was a few rounds into chemo and came up with an elaborate plan that involved a bubble costume to protect me from pathogens—call it “fashion”—and I had my bedazzled walker at the ready. I wanted so badly to be there to support and celebrate him.

But when the time finally arrived, not only did my medical team say “Absolutely not,” I knew deep down I was far from well enough. The Grammys were delayed until April that year because of another covid wave, and by then, I was six weeks out from my second bone marrow transplant. I was very weak, with no immune system to speak of. So instead, I hosted a small watch party with some of my dearest—my mom and my beloved pals Liz and Carmen. Thanks to some beautiful balloons and champagne sent by my friend Azita, the atmosphere was truly festive.

That evening was chronicled in our documentary, American Symphony, and the aftermath too. Watching it, I’m sure it would be easy to assume Jon and I were living on polar planets. That night, Jon ascended the stage and gave a wildly energetic performance of “Freedom,” and I took catnaps to make sure I could make it through the telecast. And it was quite the roller coaster. When they called his name for the biggest prize, Album of the Year, I was elated, knowing it would be a seismic shift for his career. (For those of you who’ve watched the doc, the airport shoe shine scene encapsulates this so perfectly!) But the very next morning, I woke up with a familiar pain in my abdomen that intensified over the course of the day, culminating in my very first ambulance ride en route to a two-week hospital stay. But the truth was, our experiences were much more intertwined than it seemed—we weren’t in the same geographical place, but we were experiencing those highs and lows together. It was as difficult for him to be there without me as it was for me to miss it, maybe more so.

Fortunately, we had music to keep us connected. Only a few weeks prior, he had composed daily lullabies for me, as a counterpoint to the noise of the hospital and as a way of enveloping me in his care and love when he couldn’t be there. Two of those lullabies became fully realized songs, and one made it onto Jon’s album, World Music Radio. It’s called “Butterfly,” and the first verse goes like this: 

Butterfly all alone

But can you fly on your own?

Take your place in the world today

Butterfly flying home

The first time Jon played it for me, I cried. The first time I played it for a friend, she cried, and I cried again. When I played it for my parents, it was the same. It felt so aspirational back then, because I was deep in the chrysalis. I felt like such a larval, shapeless mess, and the idea of taking flight and finding my place back in the world felt impossible. Now “Butterfly” is up for Song of the Year, along with five other nominations for World Music Radio, and this year, I’m finally well enough to attend the Grammys with him. It already feels like a win.

To celebrate, I have a music-themed offering for you today. A few months ago, I got a beautiful email from a poet named Monica Rico, where she shared how she struggled to write when she was first diagnosed with cancer, and how it was through song lyrics that she eventually came to grapple with her own circumstances on the page. I was fascinated by Monica’s story. I’ve never been someone who studies or memorizes lyrics—I’m much more attuned to the timbre of the voice, to the harmonies, to experiencing the incantatory nature of music. It’s only when I’ve listened to a song long enough, obsessively enough, that I begin to ask, “What’s going on here? Why am I drawn to this?”

Monica’s message reminded me of the power of lyrics—how they are poetry, of course, but also how they can be mirrors, showing you what you’re feeling, or directives, telling you where to go. When you’re lonely, they can provide comfort and company. They can be prayers, they can be hope. For Monica’s gorgeous, funny, poignant essay and prompt, read on.

Sending love,

Suleika

P.S. The prompt below will ask you to choose a favorite song as scaffolding (you’ll see what I mean)—and of course, you can choose any you like! But I thought it might be fun for some of us to write to the same song, just to see the different places it takes us. So if you’re inclined, maybe join me in writing into “Butterfly”? You can find the lyrics here.

Some Items of Note—

• If you missed our last meeting of the Hatch, our virtual creative hour for paid subscribers, we’ve posted a recap of it. In it Holly shared poignant lines by the brilliant Irish poet Eavan Boland and shared some thoughts on how a creative community can bring you the books, music, or poems that you need. You can find it here!

• Each Friday in our Isolation Journals Chat, we share a small joy from the week we want to hold onto. It’s such a simple practice, but the reverberations are astonishing. To see what I mean, click here!

Mikalojus Konstantinas, Čiurlionis Sagittarius (1907)

Prompt 281. After J.A.R.V.I.S. by Monica Rico

My birthday is next week. It will be the second birthday in a row that I am in treatment for cancer, though I won’t go into the details of my diagnosis. I have never liked being categorized, and with cancer, the hierarchy is staggeringly dismal. 

When I started chemo, I visualized the Hulk, Captain Marvel, Thor, Iron Man, and Wonder Woman entering my body. I wanted them to fuck shit up. I have always loved superheroes. I was so in love with Wonder Woman that when I started kindergarten, I spelled my name with a W. My mother helped me write “Wonica” on all my school supplies.

Last fall, I started radiation, and I named the machine J.A.R.V.I.S., after Tony Stark’s AI assistant. (Since I already had the Hulk and Thor in my body, I figured I should also have a rational voice that would lead them all to the right spot to fight.) No one warned me J.A.R.V.I.S. played music, so when Aerosmith’s “Dream On” began, I didn’t know what to do. Since my diagnosis, I hadn’t listened to any music. Every song reminded me of a time when I was healthy, when I was happy. As I lay there, trying not to think about what the large doses of radiation were doing to my body, I chose to think of my cousins who loved Aerosmith. I thought of us talking too loud in a restaurant. I couldn’t stop myself from crying.

I soon learned that J.A.R.V.I.S. had very particular tastes. He liked soft rock, particularly Fleetwood Mac and Elton John. He also liked “I Heard It Through the Grapevine.” Once, on a holiday weekend, he played “Girls, Girls, Girls” by Mötley Crüe, which I found deeply inappropriate in the most humorous way. J.A.R.V.I.S. played the same songs over and over again, and I fell under his spell. I began to let the music take me somewhere else. 

Throughout my diagnosis, time has felt numinous and warped. Weeks seem like days and days seem like years. At first, I couldn’t write about what was happening to me. So much was happening, I didn’t have time to think, and I couldn’t open myself to the page like I normally did. I couldn’t let myself be that vulnerable, where we surrender ourselves to our work. I was in survival mode, and just staying alive took all my energy.

But fortunately I have fabulous friends who encouraged me, especially my friend Ellen, who agreed to start exchanging letters with me. When I did start writing again, I wanted to find a way to describe what I was going through, while keeping J.A.R.V.I.S.’s songs in the background since they’d come to feel almost like a soundtrack to my life. I wanted to tell myself how I felt, but I needed the help of a well-crafted pop song to do some of the heavy lifting. So I spread the lyrics of Elton’s John’s “Rocket Man” across a page, then began writing my own between them.

I’ve been writing so many of these mixtapes. For the first time, I don’t care if these poems get published anywhere. What I find valuable is the ability to speak through something else. It feels like a prayer. It feels like an offering. 

Your prompt for the week:

Choose a song that you love. Start by spreading the lyrics across the page—maybe just a verse, maybe the whole song. Now begin to write your own lines between the lyrics. (To distinguish the two, you might want to mark the lyrics in bold or italics if you’re on a computer; if you’re writing by hand, either highlight or underline them.)

If you’d like, use the chorus or a line that speaks to you somewhere in your poem. Title your poem the name of the song and credit the artist.

If you’d like, you can post your response to today’s prompt in the comments section, in our Facebook group, or on Instagram by tagging @theisolationjournals. As a reminder, we love seeing your work inspired by the Isolation Journals, but to preserve this as a community space, we request no promotion of outside projects.

Today’s Contributor—

Monica Rico is a CantoMundo Fellow and Macondista who grew up in Saginaw, Michigan. She is an MFA graduate of the University of Michigan’s Helen Zell Writers’ Program, winner of a Hopwood Graduate Poetry Award, and 2021 winner of the Levis Prize in Poetry, selected by Kaveh Akbar. Monica is Program Manager & Editor-in-Chief for the Bear River Writers’ Conference. Her first book, Pinion, is forthcoming in March from Four Way Books.

For more paid subscriber benefits, see—

• A Creative Heart-to-Heart, a podcast where Jon and I talked about using the creative process to the lows and highs of our most tumultuous year

• Studio Visit: Hospital Edition, where I give a behind-the-scenes tour of my hospital room turned painting studio

• Marriage Vows and the Myth of a Good Catch, where Jon helped me answer the question: “Is it selfish to ask someone to marry you if you’re ‘broken’?”

Our Isolation Journal No. 1 and Surrender Tote

We designed a custom Isolation Journal with all our favorite features and a tote embroidered with my favorite mantra to carry it around in. Our stock is limited, so if you’d like one, click below!