So I go bravely before memory
pet my parents so gently
and secretly check
pet my parents so gently
and secretly check
that they breathe
the day begins or it does not
I can no longer joyride
I can no longer joyride
on his shoulders or
straddle her hip
straddle her hip
I fly them in on my thoughts
my rictus of yearning
like a formal exit
finding a soul
to write them everywhere
like graffiti, follow
them everywhere
like a ghost
______________
Note: There was a period in childhood where I was terrified my parents would die in their sleep. (They were perfectly healthy; everyone's parents in books were always dying though.) I would usually check their breath from the doorway of their bedroom. But my mom says she's woken up to me standing by her bed. (I might have died if I woke up to find someone staring down at me.)
____________________
Pic: Nu and I loved this puzzle we found at the bookstore, and we loved that someone had already put all the pieces together!
Oh, and Happy World Poetry Day!
10 comments:
This is a beautifully sentimental poem without being sappy. I love the image of petting your parents. The second stanza is so relatable; you show Independence, but not wistfully.
(My only jarring note was the word choice of rictus. Perhaps it's just me, but it has such a negative sound here, and a negative connotation.)
Take care.
Love the poem!
You know what, I never worried that my parents would die when I was a kid. I was much more worried about the animals getting out of the zoo or that the house would go up in flames (my mom is to this day a heavy smoker). It's funny because almost every beloved childhood story involves some kind of orphan.
It's funny because I was just getting my coffee this morning when my MIL knocked on the door. I actually thought she might be having a stroke, she was so worked up. But it was a nosebleed that she couldn't get under control.
I know it is awful for the survivors, but it would be wonderful if we all could die peacefully in our sleep. I mean, not now. Not all at once. But you know what I'm saying.
<3. Once I woke up from a bad dream in my residence in university, called home to see if my dad was okay, and as soon as he answered I hung up, still half asleep but reassured. I told him later and we laughed. I used to worry that the plane would crash every time my husband traveled on business. I am more calm these days, when my parents are older and stuff IS more likely to happen. Hostages to fortune, every single person we love.
Thanks, Nance!
(And I agree--"rictus of yearning" presented itself fully formed, and I had to get it out of my head.)
Thanks!
Nicole, I laugh-cried my way through your last paragraph. Yes, to dying peacefully in our own beds but I chortled at "not now. Not all at once." Yes, that too. That was brilliant narrative timing! XOXO
Oh, Allison--every single word of this. How we make ourselves vulnerable... "Hostages to fortune, every single person we love" Indeed!!
Happy poetry day!
I'd like t share from Akhmatova's:
You will hear thunder and remember me,
And think: she wanted storms. The rim
Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson,
And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.
That day in Moscow, it will all come true,
when, for the last time, I take my leave,
And hasten to the heights that I have longed for,
Leaving my shadow still to be with you.
(I'd like to hear Thunder)
Oh, Daria! Thank you for this gift, this absolute GIFT of Akhmatova!! <3
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