Granddaughter at Sixteen
A peal of laughter seeps through the wall, whirls
dust into a golden galaxy in the window's light.
Inside, her room is a kaleidoscope of crumpled clothing
and incense, psychedelic sketches hanging askew,
a patchwork of red textbooks and pink paperbacks.
The black cat startles from a dream in his bed of fuzzy
blankets and stretches awake as she strokes his back,
until sparks leap like stars that blink on a field
of gauzy blue curtains. My granddaughter doesn't know
where she comes from or where she is going
any more than the cat understands the world he entered.
She pliés and plucks a bright rag from the floor,
slips it over her slender neck, and it falls,
polished silk, to sheath her lithe frame.
Her flexible backbone twists her upright,
she glissades to the kitchen, cell to her ear,
a rosy shell, all creamy-skinned ease.
She bows before the refrigerator and rises
with a bowl of chile and sharp cheddar,
spoons it into her soft insides
through the perfect coil of her mouth,
and still her skin is scented with honey,
her breath a confection.
Tendrils of my DNA spiral in her cells, filaments
of ancestors incandesce her flesh, and sometimes
she half-laughs, a gesture, her mother's and mine,
that climbs down the family tree into the future.
She moves to the den with grace, her arms sweep the air
as if pruning the past, praising what is yet to come.
She opens Pandora on the Dell,
turns the volume to a high, throbbing beat.
One raised eyebrow expresses her boredom
with our company, and leaving the music to pulse,
she spin-steps back to her room,
shutting the door firmly behind her.
Wow Ruth! I'm so glad that you shared this one!
ReplyDeleteSome of my favorite lines:
"a rosy shell, all creamy skinned ease."
"Tendrils of my DNA spiral in her cells"
"she half-laughs, a gesture, her mother's and mine"
The second to last stanza is great in its entirety because it moves the poem forward so beautifully into something with much deeper than a simple character sketch.
I found myself wishing the lines "My granddaughter doesn't know
where she comes from or where she is going
any more than the cat understands the world he entered" had the same impact as the second to last stanza. I love that she doesn't know where she comes form or where she is going, but I don't understand the comparison to the cat. It seems a little harsh. Its clear the relationship between the narrator and the granddaughter is a complex one. Maybe bring that second to last stanza up closer to the beginning? You do well here to ride these images and let them speak for themselves (the chili and the rag as clothing are great). There are some point of view issues here. If the grandma is downstairs, how can she see her granddaughter alone in her bedroom? Did I misunderstand? This ends on a great note, where we are shut out form her world. A well developed character her, and a worthy poem. I'm sorry to hear that you are discouraged with your other poem. I hope you won't give up. You have a fan of your poetry on this end of cyber-space.