Friday, October 24, 2008

She Says



She says, "Why am I never invited to your home? What are you hiding?"

I say, poems washed up in drifts, piled on the furniture, sleeping in my unmade bed.


She says I love you, just like a native, she may even be telling the truth under certain circumstances.


I say, you are talking to empty space, I am over here, flesh of your flesh, your daughter.


She says, I have only sons.


I say, thank you for your recent gifts, they are utilitarian and practical, especially the gaffs so cleverly concealed. I will write you a thank you note in blood.


She says, you're just like your father.


I say, I have better taste in women.


She says, in this family, things are as decorous as a row of hospital beds, charts neatly clipped at the foot and always trending upward.


I say, I have learned to bandage myself with words, and to scream bloody murder. I have taught my heart to beat, and the noise of it is all I live for.


She brightens and says, it's supposed to rain tomorrow. All day.

_______________________________________________________

20 comments:

Grace DeWitt said...

I love this poem. It is such a struggle and I can feel it in your words, all the frustration, anger, pain. It’s like there’s a giant chasm between the two of you as you speak. I can relate to the pain especially in this line, “She says, you're just like your father.” BTW your retort was priceless.

PS: I like ur playlist, I’ve never heard The Puppy Song before

Fireblossom said...

It's always gratifying to a poet to know that someone really understood and felt her poem.

As for the line you liked...I wanted something that would be sort of a non sequiter, and when I had written it, the retort just flowed. A natural gift of smart mouth, I suppose. ;-)

Isn't The Puppy Song neat? I'm pleased you like my little playlist. I like yours, too!

Marty said...

Shay, You always amaze me by the way you misdirect my thoughts before setting the hook and reeling me in with your storytelling abilities.

Nichole said...

OK, sis, this is one that I simply love. Why? because it sepaks directly and emphatically to me and of me.

Biased much? O yes, definitely. But the way you weave words with thoughts and emotions just stuns me sometimes.

Doesn't matter that you're my sister, this one would stun me if you were a seventy-two year old man running as a Republican for the Presidency! *laughing*

Thanks goodness you're not because then I would have lambasted you in my blog today (of course it would have been wholy deserved.) And I wasn't even planning to write today! *smile*

Shay, this poem was just beautiful. Thank you.

Jannie Funster said...

Jesus, Shay, are you sure you're not the world's best and most famous poet writing under a pseudonym?

Leonard Cohen met Billy Colllis and started a blog?

Where so I freaking start with this poem? I can't. So I won't.

Jannie Funster said...

Collins.

Billy Collins I meant to say.

Fireblossom said...

Aw Marty, it's just a stock magician's trick. Watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat! ("that trick never works!").

Fireblossom said...

Thank you for your praise, sister mine, but somehow I had a sneaking hunch you would like this one. I still remember when Mom gave you that "Reverend's Wife Barbie" with her own little tube of Pepsodent. And the terrible fates she met at your hands. That's NOT what your EZ Bake Oven was meant for, sis.

As for me being a 72 yr old man running for president, bite your tongue! My friends, it simply isn't true.

Love you, sis. :-)

Fireblossom said...

Jannie, Leonard Cohen and Billy Collins? My word, I'm going to have to go stick my head in the freezer just to take down the swelling.

Leonard Cohen is pretty much my hero, although I have much better legs.

Truly, thank you for your kind words. :-)

Mama Zen said...

Wow.

Fireblossom said...

Er...I hope that's a good wow, MamaZ?

Jannie Funster said...

And Shay, as to your latest comment on My Big Eye, as you can see, I have blew eyes - one blew east and one blew west.

Fireblossom said...

LOL Jannie...and your third eye blew over the cuckoo's nest?

Kelly Dickson said...

i read this a few days ago, but i wasn't sure what to say, i could see the images so vividly, almost too vividly... so i let them just settle in my mind... i like the rawness of these new topics and the way you are writing them... i look forward to more ;) xxx

Fireblossom said...

I know you like it when I set down my dainty little parasol, loosen the whalebone corset and brandish a jagged emotion or two. It's freeing.

*loves on K a liddle*

:-)

Kelly Dickson said...

yes... freeing... it feels very present and moving.

can't wait til your published - soon

*smiles*

Kx

Beatrice V said...

I love this prose poem, it holds the interest right through the end, and such wonderful metaphors: ..I have learned to bandage myself with words... beautiful.

Fireblossom said...

Thanks, Nightowl!

hedgewitch said...

Despite the surreal overtones, this is so much like so many conversations I've had with my mother, back when I tried to have conversations with her(since she's been dead awhile now, our arguments are quite toned down.) Minus the snappy retorts and succinct statements--those are what I could only think of later and wish I'd said. You've drawn the characters here perfectly--they breathe.

Kelly Dickson said...

She's so narcissistic! Great poem...