Reanimated Lavender Granola Switchblade Nun rides again.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
I inherited my bedroom from my brothers, boys of another time, so tall and high
That stern gods peered down from their crew-cut hair.
On the wall,
George Washington kept crossing the Delaware with his men,
Like the Last Supper aboard a little military boat.
If I threw a coin,
It would turn to a star,
Then a bird;
It would drop enough feathers to make a fine hat--
I would board a locomotive train to St. Louis,
And visit 1904,
The first girl to do so
When I closed my eyes,
I saw the canopy bed I'd seen in the Hudson's catalog,
And armies of stuffed animals in rows;
They would say they had never heard of George Washington,
Or the British,
Or the ghost in the basement
That only I seemed to know was there.
My room was never mine--
Cleaned within an inch of its life every couple days at my mother's unhappy hands,
And by (her forbidding, joyless) god, it had better stay that way.
I would take out my puppets my grandmother had made for me
--Barn Boy and Pretty Horse Puppet--
And they would say,
It is a fine day
Full of apples and hay.
Oh, mother, when you stood in my doorway like bad news on the way,
Looking at small me on my Indian blanket bed with horses on my hands,
Was it because you heard the hoof beats
Of us running away across the plains
To an invitation-only joy
That only I could see?
Thank you to Rene for reminding me
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ride hard across that plain...brought the wood for the bon fire...think we can get it high enough to kiss the sky?ReplyDelete
The unhappy hands and the part about looking down at little me...I get it, Chica. This one hit home a little. Muy bien, amiguita...now stop ignoring my blog! I know you can get in. ;)ReplyDelete
The imagination of a young girl - I got lost in your poem. Just lovely.ReplyDelete
They were right: This IS a fine day, full of apples and hay... because I read your words today.ReplyDelete
so sad that unhappy people feel the need to press it on others.ReplyDelete
This was interesting, Shay. I grew up with two older brothers and have to confess that I found their toys infinitely more fascinating than mine...would rather play with their trucks and cars and their meccano set.ReplyDelete
But to be denied the girlie stuff...that would be heartbreaking.
So much going on in this one--I think that I've never seen the horses used quite the way you have here, so comprehensively, for so many things, and so close to what they really are in the soul. Great forgiveness in this poem, acute ear-pressed-to-the-ground perceptions of life and family, and your unquenchable adventure-attracted little self is like a bright candle flame in a musty attic that shows the way to a secret trapdoor to the stars. And stuff. I liked it very much, as perhaps you can tell.ReplyDelete
Ummm......what she said. (That was beautiful, Hedgewitch!) The poems of yours that I love the most are the ones about your childhood. One can so feel that little girl's loneliness and solitude. The hoof beats across the plains is inspired.........with hope that one day your life would be yours. So thankful you made it through to joy and can write so beautifully your poems could sing the birds down from the trees.ReplyDelete
Wow. I REALLY loved this one.
Exquisite work here. Love this poem and the others. Lydia directed me here, happy to find you! re: Barthelme, yes - the quote is from that book. Off to your book blog :)ReplyDelete
How sad for her she never has got to know the real youReplyDelete
I always read the comments when I come to your site. That's one of the things I like about your poetry -- it seems to raise different issues in different people.
I felt a combination of the things with this poem -- sadness for the little girl, strength in her ability to deal with what life has given her, and hope in the hoof beats that will take her to her own joy.
Lastly, as I read the poem one more time I think "What would we do without imagination?"
oh wow, this is thought provoking, am going off on rest of day to think upon this - and also, your writing is beautiful xxReplyDelete
So sad. I wish I could have given you my canopy bed with frilly places for stuffed animals to nestle in. That said, that wasn't a good room either. I guess the good news is that we have a room of our own now.
Beautiful, touching and world-creating poetry, as usual.
Beautiful. I connected with this on so many levels.ReplyDelete
You scour my soul with your True Poetry, O' Shay!ReplyDelete
Aloha from Waikiki
I felt very small as I read this and felt your alienation. Your mother loomed large but you were on bareback and away you rode toward all of us...ReplyDelete
OMG, this is one of your finest, Shay. Like bad news in the doorway, wasn't that the story of my childhood too!ReplyDelete
And how was 1904? Good year to slip into?
Aww..sweetie, thank you!ReplyDelete
And though she wasn't my brother :), I inherited all of my big sisters stuff...when she was good and tired of it
The spirit of wild horses sings through this piece. No matter the dislocation, wildness brings you home.ReplyDelete
Your writing is beautiful!
Ah the memories and the stories in the heads of a childReplyDelete
we could do anything inside the four walls of our minds
and you still do my friend