Still, First, Almost, Too Long....

 

I had to come back in and revise because I forgot to note the prompt from ReadWritePoem.Org. This week we were to write of Memories, Meals… Food but not recipes. Ofcourse my associations leaped to Thanksgivings and how much they haven’t been what I wish they have been. This year will be slightly different and perhaps, in several years, fodder for a poem written by me or perhaps one of my children.

Day before yesterday I was talking to my friend, Cameron, who asked how important it was to me whether or not I liked the art I create. He is a professor of Art, he can’t help himself. I told him it was very important and yet, now, I realize there are oftentimes poems and stories and paintings I create that I love/hate. This poem falls into that category. I love/hate reading it and I loved/hated writing it.

Still, First, Almost, Too Long

Brown eyes held humiliation

Seen as not acceptable

Relational earthquake leave active

Decades old aftershocks rumbling

Still

Forty years later she can still feel it:

Her nose, pressed against the

Holiday family gathering glass

Her breath finally obstructing

The view she longed to be inside

Once again, ever after it felt I

Watched my friends

Prepare for cousins after

Cousins after cousins

First, the tears

Dad’s face became

Plate decoration

Cheap table burgundy

Induced Dessert substitute

They each pretended away

Until speaking

Of tradition a someday

Poet said, “Oh, like

The tradition of Daddy,

‘falling asleep’ at

The table, right?”

The poet vowed her

Someday children wouldn’t

Know the ache of the nose

Pressed against the glass or

Breathing so long the view

Goes away

Newlywed meal for twenty two

In an inner-city, funky apartment

Surrounded by smells from

El Salvador and Guatemala and

Bombay, Turkey roasted and

Football was watched (on silent)

An amalgam “family” gathered

No pressed noses, no hidden wishes

Because it was there, right there

The almost joy

November after Marlena died

They all came to her

Hither and yon cars pulled

Into her cracking driveway

She bought fresh flowers

Decorated her new home

Roasted the turkey and cooked

Cranberry sauce from scratch

Everyone exclaimed delight

And giggled and laughed and

Played catch in the front yard but

No one mentioned her dead daughter’s name

In her late night tears she made it

Just fine, anyway

Too long separated

Her silent vow long broken

As her children’s noses flatten

Three matching noses, matching

Blue eyes, matching longing, matching

Just this edge of sorrow

They watch their friends

Prepare for cousins after cousins

After cousins without theirs

Brown eyes held humiliation

Seen as not acceptable

Relational earthquake leave active

Decades old aftershocks rumbling

still

Once again, I still feel it.

 

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Comments

[Anthony North]

Beautiful and poignant.

[Julie Jordan Scott]

Thank you, Anthony. I am grateful you came along to read on Thanksgiving.

[Deb]

It is beautiful and poignant. The lines about pressed nose against glass and fogging away the view is incredible.

The way people ignore what's in the room is always good to write about. Thank you for that. Too.

[ana]

Beautifully told story.
I'm moved by the image beyond the glass, the repetition in
"friends
Prepare for cousins after
Cousins after cousins"

but sad.

[irene]

The cyclical structure ends it poignantly.

[Derrick]

Hi Julie,

It does seem terribly sad, this tale of memories of pressed noses, unmentionable names and silent vows broken.

[David Moolten]

A powerful poem, which evokes the way in which people are forced to confront the most squalid family facts and shortcomings at holidays, and the most tragic memories. Here there is the fault-line of broken relationships, the earthquake shock of loss strongly rendered.

[Cynthia Short]

Do any of our holidays even barely resemble the "hallmark" moments we crave? I can feel so clearly the sadness of someone not quite "fitting in" and being outside it all.
This poem made me very sad, which means you did a perfect job!

[Paul Oakley]

A poignant poem taking us through an array of occasions on which family dinners can hurt. No relief in sight. Very moving.

[DJ Vorreyer]

The cyclical images work well - there's still a lot rumbling under the surface here.