Those times I drove us off the dirt-road,
into fields, where you’d sit still for hours,
smiling at the ladybug nibbling your finger pad,
your golden tendrils tangled among the weeds,
counting clouds and buttercups
until the stars came out.
You’d brush the flapper curls from my brow:
“Grandma, you’re my role model.”
I’d cry myself to sleep those nights
while waves of chain-smoke seeped out
from beneath your father’s door.
Afternoon sunlight, splayed on the wheat-twined rug,
whose frayed ends I blame you, the twirlings of your fingers,
as you contemplated the spelling word of the week:
“Uroboros.”
Your dimples deepened when I knelt beside you,
showed you to twist those frayed ends into a snake
eating its own tail - the emblem of infinity,
even if it bled itself into endlessness.
I tried spreading your father’s words on my toast,
the preserve,
I bit into burnt bread, for you,
but I have no teeth left to sustain this wear
that promises no respite nearby,
only an old woman, and her dentures, now.
The blonde boy next door asks for you.
I tell him you’re still counting buttercups.
But isn’t that the nature of this,
the procession of years, one can’t simply stop counting,
lest you scratch the blackness, and the record repeats
until memories play endlessly:
The Uroboros never dies.
And I wonder, are we to meet again
before the reading of a will.
Darling girl, I’ve left you everything,
all that I am.
all that I am.
One morning, an invitation stirs in the mailbox.
A lace figure stares at me from down the aisle,
blinks a nod that never reaches the eyes,
I long to trumpet over the orchestra:
Come back!
There are still more buttercups to count,
you haven’t finished unraveling the rug,
the blonde boy still asks for you.
I try to bury the wave rising, I do,
but there are buttercups woven within your veil.
Talk to me, my love. Your father does not own your tongue.
I curse whatever poison he’s forced into you, all these years,
that’s cracked your memories of me sharp, until I bleed endlessly.
I blame him. And you? You’ve advanced this avalanche
I blame him. And you? You’ve advanced this avalanche
of distance, by sailing away, down his puffs of smoke.
Somewhere, someone is standing in a buttercup field,
beneath a soundless sky,
listening for the leap of your laughter
over endlessness.
Gabriella this is so beautiful -- it feels very different from your usual (also beautiful) style, this seems much more voiced and simply tender. I think you do a great job "throwing your voice" to this grandmother figure -- your signature idyllic tone from imagery and vocabulary now takes on the form of this grandmother and it feels so fitting and genuine.
ReplyDeleteI like how in the first stanza up until the 7th line I really don't know what kind of a relationship this is: 2 lovers? Parent and child? Best friends? And then the description of "flapper curls" references a time period, indicating these might not be 2 youthful lovers, and we're immediately pulled in with "Grandma, you're my role model."
I personally have joined Professor Miller's team with the hesitancy about tears to portray emotion, but I actually like the way it's used in the final 3 lines of that first stanza:
"I’d cry myself to sleep those nights
while waves of chain-smoke seeped out
from beneath your father’s door."
I think I like it because A) it fits the character, and B) it's not depicting a one dimensional sadness. It's on the heels of a line that make it seem these must be tears of joy, yet then the ominous picture of a chain-smoking (i like that specification) father comes in, and we understand that this picturesque relationship might be more complicated. That being said, maybe consider finding at least a more interesting way to describe crying to sleep? Maybe referring back to those ladybus, clouds, buttercups, or stars in a creative way to draw tears? Just a thought. It does work the way it is.
Speaking of those images, that "smiling at the ladybus nibbling your finger pad" is so intriguing. At first I was like "ow. that sounds kind of itchy," but specifying that word "nibbling" and the finger pad, and of course choosing a ladybug over some other bug were all great, subtle choices.
Some of my other favorite descriptions:
"wheat-twined rug"
"trace those frayed ends into a snake,/eating its own tail" [I googled Uroboros and love that connection]
"I tried spreading your father's words on my toast,/the preserve,/I bit into burnt bread, for you-/But I have no teeth left to sustain this wear" [This was brilliant. So mundane an image, biting into toast, but so sharp]
A few other suggestions: I couldn't figure out the marriage, whether she marries the blonde boy or/and ends up unhappy walking down the aisle. Does this have something to do with the father?
And did the grandmother die before she gets married? I think I got confused in that fourth stanza as to whether that's a future speculation or reference to her death.
Also, leaping laughter over waves is really beautiful -- but maybe referencing the ocean a little more pronounced in other areas of the poem could strengthen that ending. There's one in the stanza before, "by sailing away," and the stanza before that, "I try to bury the wave rising," but the primary setting I imagine in this poem are those buttercups and tendrils in the field.
Beautiful poem
I am emailing you a detailed response to this poem using Microsoft Word's "track changes" feature for my comments. See my comments there for much more!
ReplyDeleteThis is a really beautiful poem. Allow me to adopt Talia's adjective--"tender" really describes the speaker's voice and her emotions towards her granddaughter. The tone really captures the voice of an older, caring, gentle woman.
ReplyDeleteI found the lines "smiling at the ladybug nibbling your finger pad,
your golden tendrils tangled among the weeds,
counting clouds and buttercups" really beautiful. Also the line "Afternoon sunlight, splayed on the wheat-twined rug" though I'm not sure about the description of "stardust" in the girl's eye--it felt out of place to me, for some reason. I also liked the word choice "flapper curls"--to me they were a subtle way to indicate the grandmother's age, as her hairstyle strongly indicates a past era.
The line "cry myself to sleep" seemed a little bit cliche to me.
I found the line "I tried spreading your father’s words on my toast" very intriguing. I like the idea of the line "But I have no teeth left to sustain this wear/that promises no respite near," but the rhyme comes off a bit silly to me.
I enjoyed the self-reference "I tell him you're still counting buttercups"--bringing back imagery from earlier in the poem. Furthermore, to me this indicated the beginning of buttercups taking on a symbolic meaning within the poem, symbolizing innocence and childhood--an image that is revisited further in the end.
The stanza which begins "But isn’t that the nature of this-" was my least favorite--possibly because I found the imagery confusing.
The description "lace figure" is a bit cliche--though the description is perhaps banking on a cliche--although she looks like the perfect bride, she is actually very unhappy.
I really loved the lines "Come back!
There are still more buttercups to count,
you haven’t finished unraveling the rug,
the blonde boy still asks for you.
I try to bury the wave rising, I do,
but there are buttercups woven within your veil."
The imagery of the buttercups has gained so much meaning in between its first appearance and here.
This poem has a strong voice and very beautiful word choice. The characterization and the depiction of relationships is subtly crafted.
I understand this poem to be about a grandmother with a close relationship to her granddaughter. She feels the granddaughter's father (the speaker's son?) has not been a good father. The poem culminates in the granddaughter marrying a man who (it is implied) will mistreat her like her father did. Her universal anxiety at her granddaughter growing up is coupled with her specific fears that she has chosen the wrong man to spend her life with. Also--I think--she feels somewhat guilty for driving away "the blond boy," --a childhood friend and potential romantic interest--who might have been better for the granddaughter--but at the time she felt she was too young and was not ready to let the granddaughter move away from her childhood. (Alternatively, he simply represents innocent childhood romance as opposed to the serious and worrisome relationship she is now entering into).
I love this poem of yours. I think its your best work so far. the reason I love it is because it departs from general description and provides a gorgeous story for the reader. I was most compelled by the paragraphs and lines that described the story. That is the strongest part of this.
ReplyDeleteAs usual, you make nice music with your lines. “Buttercups woven within” and “golden tendrils tangled” are some notable ones.
I love the way you introduce Uroboros as a word you are learning, and then it comes into the poem!! That is so cool and so well done! Damn, I wish I thought of that.
This was a great line: “I tried spreading your father’s words on my toast,
the preserve,
I bit into burnt bread, for you- “
I am not crazy about the title, though that just may be my style. I like very unambiguous titles and this one seemed a little odd bc it didn’t come in until the end and it didn’t seem very significant.
Updated on May 2, 3018.
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