Sunday, April 3, 2011

Ruth, April 3

 I have some questions about this, but I don't want to bias anyone's view, so I'll ask after you've read this and tell me if it makes any sense, lacks subtlety, is too morbid, whatever.  (Hey, those are my questions!)
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'Til Death Do Us Part/Bone of My Bone(s)


Conceived in darkness,
you were born on a stunning
June day. We honored
you with champagne
and a three-tiered cake.

You wore a halo of golden rings.
For a few giddy months you
glowed with your own light.
We wrapped you in a silk quilt
and couldn't take our eyes off you.

We wanted to learn everything
you were. Your breath
whispered to us all night and we
listened to your limbs rustle
under the bedclothes.

Then the curtains fluttered open
and we breathed the sweet lure
of earth's aura. We looked out
the window to the open arms of the oaks
and knew it was the season to wean you.

At times we forgot to feed you
or cover you at night. We let
you sleep in dirty denims,
your thin fingers catching
in holes frayed by wear.

We blamed each other into
silence and didn't teach you
the words you needed, to grow.
You learned to talk listening
to the jays quarrel in the brush.

In the dim light of our home
your sight grew weak. Your
watery blue eyes followed
us out of the house as we
went our separate ways.

You sat behind closed
doors in stale gray air
and your strength faded
pale as the midday moon
against a smoky sky.

One stormy day we watched your slender
veins stop pulsing, until you lay flaccid/limp
in the tempest. The wind blew until
the trees bowed and the soil rose to swallow
you into darkness, where you began.

3 comments:

  1. Ruth, this is a very dark piece on child-rearing. It does point out the the very natural cycle of birth to death which I like.

    We blamed each other into
    silence and didn't teach you
    the words you needed, to grow.

    This is a very sad, and telling statement on how wrapped up in our own lives we can become. Well written, maybe a little more truth in there than most people want to know. Debbie

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  2. Ruth,
    Apparently my last comments didn't take, so we will try this again. Thanks for letting me know. I really like this poem. I'd agree with Debbie when she says there are some chilling aspects to it, but I think that is a good thing. The hardest truths in life are often the ones that we need to be exploring through poetry. Don't be at all dissuaded by the hard to tackle subject. Its very worth-while. On that score, it might be most useful to show what I see in the poem and what I'm still unclear about. This seems to be a poem about parents who are trying to give their child independence, but also feeling guilty when that child can't survive on its own. At the end of the poem they leave after the child dies. My main question has to do with the parent's motivation. At one point in the poem it seems like they abandon the child, but then they are there to watch its veins stop pumping. That's confusing. I believe that could abandon it, but if so I want to know what prompted it. Equally confusing is the shift form them thinking it is a golden baby to forgetting to feed it. When the child died, was it still a baby? Was this child old enough to live on its own and couldn't for some reason? I think that understanding their motivation will clarify a lot in this poem. There is some tension between the parents, but I'm not sure where it is coming from. Perhaps the child is sick and its not really anything they have done wrong. Or perhaps they really have done something wrong (or one of them has) and have reason to feel guilty the way that they do in this poem. This is rich with conflict though, and worth continuing to clarify. You were wondering if it lacks subtlety, but I think the opposite is true. What you may want to be careful of is the over-worked language (aura, flaccid, tempest.) This poem carries so much intensity that the complex language gets in the way of the emotion here and sends it into melodramatic territory. "Bone of my Bones" is a great title. this is good work Rose, and you are brave to write it.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Ruth, not Rose, Ruth. I was thinking of a story about a child who was abandoned and her name was Rose.

    ReplyDelete