Fetus:
Abortive.
Stillborn.
Nonetheless—
afterbirth.
May it rot your womb.
Do not conceive again. Not again.
Don’t you know it’s no use?
You think I can’t remember
But I do.
Peel the caul back from my eyes.
I am a child who will forever see too much.
Harvest these cells, if you dare
So I may relay this power to you.
DNA doubles back on itself,
a daisy chain
a chain-link fence
a fenced-in future
I – you – we – her -
child – Mother -
Every last pluck a love-me-not.
Every last petal a barb.
Girl:
Cling to your poppets and dollies.
No matter how lifelike,
Their painted stares cannot prepare you.
In ten springs, a girl yet.
But prom season brings
tiaras and queens
and gruesome scenes.
Pastel gown like a skirted crib,
gives birth in a toilet stall.
Dollies discarded with no wolves to carry off.
She returns to pop music and wilting corsages,
desperate to attenuate childhood
or the myth of it.
The veneer of youth as adult games
replace poppets, and christening gowns
molder genteelly in closets.
The day after,
we’ll see her face on the evening news.
One way or the other,
we’ll learn,
she’s graduated.
Woman:
Adulthood is entered via regret.
But you figure, what’s one sin more?
Despite her scarlet ways
she paints her face in neutral tones.
Womb collects only cobwebs.
It’s the only part of her that hasn’t been used,
And she a willing colluder in her hastening
toward total emptiness.
Mother:
Is infanticide so unimaginable?
People are less horrified
at the feintings of Abraham.
Clytemnestra, deliver us.
Birth cores me like an apple.
To bleed not red but white.
Or am I pitted like a peach?
Remove this firm center
and I become pulp.
I whisper to you, “I am not good enough”
before I push your head underwater,
or I have but to lie down
with my feet in the stirrups,
and let the clinic scoop me out.
My veins shudder under the weight of poisons,
replacing my emptiness with anesthesia dreams.
If you had been a boy, I see you at twenty-two,
A rifle on your back, fighting some distant war.
Extreme late-term abortion.
If you had been a girl, I see myself reproduced,
Nurturing the same neuroses and fears.
But you become neither.
I have lost you by the cupfuls over the years,
flushed you down toilets,
washed myself of you.
And now I am prepared to end
all your possibilities,
all possibility of us.
See what I have saved you from?
You’d be amazed at how deep
the protective instinct goes.
Barren:
Do not be fooled by this hair,
these hips. I may look like something
lately risen from river clay,
color and form of sheer earth.
To look at me, you would think I could open my mouth
and exhale cornfields. But I am a whole other force.
Deceiver by nature,
cosmetics do little to enhance
a born hussy,
a husk.
More than barren,
My tubes are a forked road
Merging like twins in reverse
into nothing.
I long to resemble my true self,
a Gorgon. A stone-bearer.
I avoid my own eyes in the mirror.
But at least I am free.
There is nothing to tether me
like a stake to the ground.
You cannot imagine what it’s like
to drop this weight.
You cannot imagine the relief
to be divested of all future responsibility,
to be divested of all future.
Post:
So many possibilities for that little prefix.
By now, most women
have undergone one procedure or other.
The uterus prolapses or
something else breaks down,
leaving me wondering if we were indeed
designed disposable.
Once the fruit is dropped,
or like pulpwood, once print and re-printed,
into the chipper we go.
They have a treatment for it now,
as if what were happening weren’t
entirely natural. For some of us,
it isn’t.
It makes no difference now,
But all my life I have looked behind me
trying to see if I cast some darker shadow
searching for some clue of my unworthiness.
Ether:
Garland me with coral.
I crave the touch of something long-dead
and the possibility of its imbued wisdom.
Choked on my own breath,
Gagged on my spit
I wish for burial at sea,
The earth’s great sac
salt that matches the salt
that once pumped
through my coral pink lungs.
Water that does not alleviate thirst
but ingrains addiction like lust
and keeps the discarded chitinous hides
and the polyps unaccountably dry.
Why do you think mothers who kill their children
so often opt for water?
We want to give them the hope of re-emergence,
to be an insulated creature again
all gills and eyes.
We want for them
what we want for ourselves:
pure breath, pure sight.
We pray they forget what they saw
while they were inside of us.
Author notes
This was a very difficult poem for me to write, never mind post. I am not looking to start a debate on abortion. I am sure we're all aware of the different viewpoints, so there's no need to go over them again here.
I wrote this because I am 26 years old, and three weeks ago, due to some major health issues, I underwent a complete abdominal hysterectomy. I am the youngest person the surgeon had ever performed this procedure on, and he was actually more upset than I was. (I have no children.) This poem expresses all the fear, doubt, and guilt that I am coping with; I could not help but find myself reflecting on the burden women carry in the life-and-death decisions involved in pregnancy, child-bearing, and motherhood in general.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 29 of 29
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While looking for good poems I found this.
I have copied this poem of yours on my desk top for a further reading for greater insight of the issues. Of late, leaving aside my normal work, I have been pondering over this ‘feeling’ thing. I have a grandson through my daughter (I have reasons to believe that he is a special handiwork of God, because of the circumstances attached). I did not know what love means, till I realized that I probably did not feel for my son and daughter ( may be in my youthful days I did not have time to waste on such things as feelings, or may be because the times have changed), the way I feel for my daughter’s son. This feeling of love I don’t express to people around me, but I am acutely aware of how vulnerable it makes me. This leads me immediately to the various TV footages, we have been seeing of late, of death and destruction in our times, quite irrespective of the side of the conflict. In the destruction of an individual, sadly most frequently a young human being, how much of the labor of love is just wasted in a trice! Doesn’t it cast a heavy burden on our conscience? I have seen the longings for a child in the eyes of a childless woman. What of a woman who nurtures a child into a fully grown human being just to lose him/her, for no reasons explained? Who has made these ‘causes’ more worthy of our loyalty than the worth of a human life? -
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Hi manhaq. I don't get on here very much these days-- life has a way of happening, as I'm sure you know. But I wanted to write and say thanks for commenting on this piece of mine-- it's been a few years since I posted it, and I'm glad to see that my work resonated with you. Yes, birth and its absence raises a lot of questions about love and relationships, and especially responsibility. Your grandson sounds like a lucky kid.
Pie
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Its a great poem and you have talent...
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This is an enormous poem. It took me a long time to read it.
... It is full of all human feelings including rage and regret. But birth is not the only future though many myths tell us so. Fear doubt and guilt affect all of us, and when it's life and death we're speaking about they're appropriate feelings... Disappointment shadows your words here but there is also the responsibility of liberation and other talents shine through all your work and your comments. It will see you through. Best RA -
The style of this poem is amazing, it really relays your emotion so fully.
Garland me with coral.
I crave the touch of something long-dead
and the possibility of its imbued wisdom.
I dont know exactly why; but thos three lines really stand out from the rest of the poem to me. I am not normally a fan of long poems; (im often bored of reading such long passages) but this was amazing. -
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Hi, kep. I'm always glad to meet new people on the site, so pleased to meet you, and welcome to my page.
Those lines were also very strong for me. I generally prefer to write shorter pieces, but, on ocassion, one comes out that demands a longer format. This was one of them. I hope I made up the difference by breaking it into "chapter," so to speak, and keeping the lines themselves relatively short and simple.
Thanks for reading and leaving a kind comment.
Pie
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But you become neither.
I have lost you by the cupfuls over the years,
flushed you down toilets,
washed myself of you. GREAT LINES!!!!!!WOW!!!!!!!!!!
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Hi again, LD. Two comments from you today-- I appreciate that! I'm glad you liked this one.
Pie
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CP
i was here yesterday, but needed much time to think about what to say, I know there's a lot, but where to begin?
Today, I found myself in this page again, and though the poem dragged me too low yesterday with mixed emotions and the pangs of the simple truths it bear, I had to read it again.
First of all, I wanted to thank you for writing here things I have always wanted to say, issues I have always wanted to settle, questions I have always wanted to answer or be answered, but never got to.
I think to be a woman, one should be loaded with much deeper sense and made of tougher stuff all the time, and i mean ALL THE TIME!
I am 33 years old and one of my fallopian tubes is already cut due to ectopic pregnancy early in my marriage. It was my first pregnancy and though the doctors say I can still get pregnant, I never did. Maybe when I work really hard for it, I would (or still wouldn't, who knows, really?) , but I know I already did (worked hard). And upto some point, it dawned on me that I need to rest -- my kidney (from all these medications), my whole body from all these doctors' probing, my finances, but esp my heart -- from that roller coaster of excitement and disappointment, one after the other, sometimes with a really thin line separating them. Now I have learned to live with what I have, and maximize what I am born to do. Meaning that if I am happy with what I do, and I know I am making other people happy -- then I am a woman of substance.
I am pretty sure, You've been through a lot writing this one. But it's all worth it. It's one of the best and honest writes I have encountered here in SP. And I can feel every bit of your emotions. I like how each line suddenly breaks and stops. I just hope, it helps you, just as much as it did me, in answering most of the questions and closing old issues and move on -- stronger than ever.
I liked all of it, but I was esp torn and heartbroken with the following:
"to be divested of all future responsibility
to be divested of all future"
and
"...leaving me wondering if we were indeed
designed disposable..."
I have always admired you for everything that you have written here --but for this one, you have all my applauses and salute and respect!
be well,
Lynne
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Oh, Lynne. I am sorry to hear of what you've been through-- the doctors, the meds, the emotions. Thank YOU for finding the courage to share that with ME. This is precisely the reason I posted this poem-- to reach out to other people that I knew must be facing similar trials in their lives, and give voice to it if I could.
I am so happy to hear that you've learned to love yourself as you are-- it is the hardest thing in the world to do. I began making inquiries four years ago about having a hysterectomy done, but the doctors simply wouldn't hear of it-- I was 22, 23, 24-- they wouldn't consider giving it to someone my age. In a way, that made things harder-- I have been very sick over the past four years. But it did give me time to truly come to terms with what might occur-- the prospect of never having children. This poem has given me a clean break with all the pain, both mental and physical, and, like you, I am glad to be free of doctors and medicines, glad to be what I am-- healthy, and, as you say, a woman of substance.
Applauses, salutations, and respect right back at ya! I pray for your good health as well.
We ARE made of tougher stuff.
Pie
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hey lauren
altough i don't like him, Donald Hall wrote an essay that one should only strive to write epic masterpiece poems and said there's only a few, i think he mentioned Dante's Inferno, i think this is right up there with the greats.
in hindu the god shiva is the creator and the destroyer but this poem makes abundantely clear the responsibility that goes with that. i've always been glad i'm a guy because i wouldn't want that responsibility.
another thing you touched on thats been on my mind was boys becoming soldiers. mussolini said that war is as important to men as having children is to women and i thought of the ineqity of that. so women bear labor for nine months and spend their lives rearing, nurturing and teaching children only to have them killed (late term) by the likes of the mussolinis, hitlers and bushes of the world.
anyway i read twice and got more out of it but i feel i could read this 100 times and each time i'd get something new out of it.
you know i think anything beautiful is borne of pain and sacrifice, like a child or a poem of this caliber.
dave -
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Thanks, Dave. I don't know if I'd call this an epic piece, but I am honored at the mere possibility.
Shiva has figured largely into my thoughts lately, as well as Kali. The ancients, who were much closer to life and death than we are in this clinical age, understood just how close the two really are.
I'm very glad you also caught my little political remark about boys being soldiers. I think it would be must be the most unbearable thing in the world to have a child, raise him to adulthood, only to have him go off to war. The talk of re-instating a draft troubles me deeply, having a 21-year-old brother.
Thank you again for reading and the praises. Like Lad, I am always thrilled when I see your name come up on one of my pages.
Lauren
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A deeply moving poem, Pie.
This one left me with a lump in my throat. The feelings you expressed in the poem are normal under the circumstances. Someone close to us is going through some major health problems and she has expressed similar feelings. And it is heart-wrenching to be unable to help in some way more than just to be there for some emotional support.
I will keep you in my morning meditations, Pie. If that is OK with you.
Take care
Bill
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Hi, Bill. It seems that the more people I talk to about this, the more I find that they know a woman who has experienced what I have experienced, and that is a comfort.
Please do include me in your morning meditations. I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart.
Pie
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Pie,
This was a difficult poem to read. It is different. The subject matter incredible. There is weight to each "Age." This encompasses a huge spectrum of looking into abortion. A friend of mine, cries over the fact, that she too cannot bear children, such a contrast to those who can bring forth life and yet not want it.
This was hard to swallow, as real and as disturbing this matter is. Motherhood and womanhood in general seems to be a place of difficult choices and feelings. I cannot fully comprehend all of it. As i stand from a far and look at it separate from myself. The one ability women have that men can never duplicate, is what makes me believe that women have incredible strength. Each time they bear children and every moment they come through choices that can destroy that very difference tears her apart. The choices women make related to their womb are unimaginable ones. I am basically babbling out my thoughts, for this poem brought out a lot of them. Pie, i stumbled through the lines for they do ache.
beautiful.
-iphios -
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Hi, Iphios. Your friend has my deepest sympathy-- it is an utterly terrifying proposition. I told my husband I felt like a biological dead end, while there are people who throw their chances away, or worse, people who breed with no thought or care as to the lives of the children they bring forth.
"The choices women make related to their womb are unimaginable ones." With that observation, you cut right to the heart of what I was trying to say here.
I cannot thank you enough for allowing me to share this with you, and, as ever, for all your kind thoughts.
Pie
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Move over, Sylvia; Lauren will now stand with you.
I mean it. Today, I read through some of Plath's good stuff; amazing. And this one of yours is easily an equal on the unique inner life of women who can't help but look into their femininity with a poet's mind and heart. Although I very, very much like your cooking poems (one other facet of you), this one digs into my sense of tragedy, and so it's much more moving for me.
Overnight, I let the poem linger in my head. Four images stood out and won't let go: "scooped out" - as though cannabalistic gods spooned out dessert for their laughing feast.
Then, "Clytemnestra" - your ironic invocation of this murderess-then-victim, doing in her husband only to be done in by her own son: the sheer panic of reversed prayer to her, at least a woman who'd understand a woman's sufferings.
"Gorgon" - how utterly disfigured, like a carved up stone - a woman must feel, having gone through 'a thousand cuts' - the dark side of a human's self-awareness, different from yet similar my masculine dark image of Perseus, that everready killer who feeds off of his male hormonal belligerence - and both those gods-in-us might lead to stone hearts. And...
salt-water - the womb's liquid and the death bath for children of terrified mothers who can "never be good enough".
For me, Lauren, this is a major poem that floats upward from good to great.
A few other thoughts:
- the introductory words for each section are just right, but I got confused at times as to whether they were speaking or were being spoken to.
- 'cornfields' is very good, but maybe too expansive an image? Maybe 'apple pie' or 'apple orchard' or 'apple trees' would be more palpable?
That's it. I get a sense that something profoundly vagrant and unsettled has now been exorcised; I know the feeling - my Eddie poem did that for me; and I think I know the courage it took, then, for you to post this searing mirror. More power to you, my dear celestial pie.
Luv.
Lad -
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Hi, Lad. How flattering to be considered on an equal footing with Plath, one of my favorites.
I think this poem, more than any I've ever written before, can be played with and re-arranged continuously. I can't tell you how many drafts I've written, how many lines I've cut, but it's more like a presence-- what you said about something vagrant and unsettled being exorcised is right on. I haven't really been able to work on anything else because I keep coming back to this one, and feeling the need to post it.
I see the point of your suggestions-- hobby had pretty much the same ones.
I guess I went with cornfield instinctively, being a "corn-fed" Midwestern girl, as well as corn being the mystical vegetable of the Aztecs, my forebears. Plus, the extreme fecundity of it seemed just over-the-top enough to demonstrate how fertile one appears.
Also, I deliberately blurred the voices, because this poem came to me as a cacophony-- mothers and children speak, at once, the acts involved are atrocities as well as acts of compassion, meant to be judged as well as seen sympathetically. I knew it would be a difficult feat to carry off, and perhaps I, simply, couldn't manage it.
As always, my heart beats a little easier just seeing your name on one my pages.
Luv,
Lauren
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This seems to bleed
from your very heart. It just drips with a powerful sense of loss.
My wife and I lost our first child. I was young and stupid and had no inkling as to the pain she was going through due to the loss. I had thought: she had only had it for three months. I couldn't understand the devastation she was feeling.
Over the years I have come to understand more, but your words here delivered me to the place of her pain and made me to understand like head trauma. And I at once realize how little I understand women and how much I have to learn. This was incredibly powerful and epic in it's scope of what it means to be woman. And I think I am beginning to understand.
Thank you so much for sharing this intimate piece of who you are because I needed it. This was very powerful and filled me with a profound sense of remorse for my past insensitivity. I am terribly sorry for your loss. I wish I could speak some solace to your pain but know that I cannot. I'm sorry, pie.
Al
language: 5, rhythm: 5, subject: 5, tone: 5, form: 5.
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Al, thank you so much-- your support means a lot to me. I'm sorry to hear you and your wife went through the loss of a child-- despite what you say about not being very understanding, a lot of marriages wouldn't survive something like that. It's says a lot about you and your wife that you made it through.
Writing this poem and hearing from friends like you-- that DOES offer some solace. I am very lucky to have my husband. And I am very lucky to have the people on this site. I am continually amazed at how just two and half years ago, I didn't know any of you, and never imagined myself being a regular contributor to a writer's website of any kind, never mind feeling compelled to bare my soul in such a manner. The world is a funny place.
Pie
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A Powerful Poem
... using lovely poetic phrases to express deep-set loss and (communal) agony. Sharing poetry on a broad and general continuum of experiences is a difficult and challenging task, which you have pulled off with excellence. Well done!
Creative, spontaneous, fragile and vulnerable -- yet: strong. I loved this write.
Blessings and peace, dearest One.
Myra
language: 4, rhythm: 4, subject: 4, tone: 4, form: 4.
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Hi, Myrataal. Thank you very much for not only reading this, but for being open to share this difficult experience with me. I can't tell you how the people on this site have helped me grow-- and continue to do so, especially now.
Peace to you as well.
Pie
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Hi,
Ok so this is not really my normal format for a comment but hey they say one way to comment on a poem is just to tell the author how it made you feel, well here goes:
After reading this there is a feeling in my chest, I never noticed it gather – I’ve exhaled, sharply and deeply, but it remains. I don’t believe it is there in sufferance of the poem’s content, it’s not the heavy suppression of empathy, though that is surely an under-bearer of this feeling, but rather it is admiration for the strength of mind and spirit it takes to post such a poem, and the footnote.
I am often reluctant to critique poems of such a personal nature, the closeness of the author to the subject can lead to offenses being taken where none were intended, however, I believe that sharing this with us shows trust and therefore an acceptance that the comments you receive will be offered in good faith so...
Fetus:
The opening words and format for the first stanza immediately catches the attention, although initially I was unsure who the wording was being aimed at. Only after L9 did I assume that the ‘chapter’ heading dictates whom the voice is spoken from, therefore, directing the wording toward the mother.
I think L12 would read better in the historic given the opening 5 lines.
‘Every last petal a barb’ – excellent choice a really stabbing close for this stanza.
Girl:
I like how this stanza develops within itself. The opening lines provide a reference to her age, then in the following stanza I’m reminded of the poem “what are little boys made of’ creating a sense of fantasy which sharply dissolves as puberty and misgivings of the teenage years sets in. My assumption of the ‘chapter’ dictating the voice is off for this stanza.
Woman:
Although I do like the overall tone of this chapter I’m a little confused by the voices here again, there seems to be two: one directed towards ‘she/her’ and the other towards ‘you’
I wander if you need the first two lines – leaving them out would would unify the voice and provide a much stronger opening. Also from ‘want of use’ is redundant.
Mother: Great as it is.
Interesting view point on war. I recently wrote a piece which featured Kamakaze pilots, in the research for this I noted that mostly it was the young and inexperienced who were selected for this ‘honor’ – so your imagery strikes a still fresh cord with me.
Barren:
I’m afraid the following is a little too abstract for me:
'To look at me, you would think I could open my mouth
and exhale cornfields. But I am a whole other force.'
‘a husk’ - a simple but highly effective word choice. I don’t think you need the following line.
I think you need a ‘but’ to begin the last line of the gorgon stanza.
Good break on relief and the closing lines of this ‘chapter’
Post.
The mix of the pragmatic – the organic failure, with the resulting introspection, the why question - is nicely handled. What I like most is how the opening line sets up a loop to the ‘chapter’ title and works with each of the three stanza’s: post-op, tool late for new treatment, the introspective why?.
Ether:
I’m not sure ‘garland me with coral’ works in conjunction with the following lines. Coral as a garland implies life. Coral on it’s own can imply a skeleton but this wouldn’t work with garland so I’m not sure which (if either!) you were going for?
The third stanza of this is brilliant esp. ‘but ingrains addiction like lust’
The opening lines of the fourth stanza don’t work for me, perhaps something like:
Children cast to water ~
hope of re-emergence,
to be an insulated creature again etc.
Also the voice changes again her from ‘he/she’ or ‘you’ to ‘we’
Overall this is an accomplished write with a few small inconsistencies particularly (for me at least) in the voices of each ‘chapter’ (I keep putting chapter in inverted commas ‘cause I’m not sure if that’s what they should be called?
Do these affect the read; well I think the opening of my comment covers that.
Thanks for sharing, and I wish you well.
Rgds
hobby
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Hi, hobby. There would no need ever to be worried that a criticism from you would be offensive, or anything less than sensitive and tactful. Indeed, I do trust and respect the people on this site, and I deeply appreciate, as usual, the careful analysis you have given this piece.
Yes, "chapter" is as good a word as any to describe the individual components of this piece.
Can you please clarify what you mean about L12? I do not understand your phrase about it "reading better in the historic."
Overall, I blurred the voices in this piece purposely, trying to convey a shifting narrator, in keeping with the overall abstraction. In fact, this was one of the big reasons I refrained from posting-- I knew a lot of people would not get/would not respond well to the blurring of speakers-- I did it so, at any given moment, the reader is both judgmental and sympathetic-- the subjects are objects of scorn as well as pity. The subject is both close and far away-- I wanted everyone to feel, for just a moment, what it was to be her/you/me/mother/child-- which is why I put that line in the first chapter-- about daisy chains, and
"I – you – we – her -
child – Mother -"
I had and have doubts about whether or not I was successful. Do you have any thoughts on how I can accomplish this? I am afraid of losing immediacy if I go with more traditional narratives.
On "Woman"-- the first line is my attempts at abstraction again. "entered via regret" is meant to parallel birth, via a canal, but it seemed too obvious to put in a direct simile. Again, your thoughts would be welcome.
Now that you point it out, "from want of use" is redundant. I will subtract.
Mother-- I will have to read your Kamikaze poem. I wrote that line because I am always intrigued with the contradictions in people-- those who are pro-life generally are pro-war, pro-gun, and pro-capital punishment.
Barren-- "open my mouth and exhale cornfields"-- i.e., as evidence of my extreme fecundity, or at least, I give the appearance of being such.
Right you are again about the other extraneous line.
I must disagree about coral-- I had in mind the kind used as building material and jewelry.
The line about mothers killing their children refers to very specific events-- Andrea Yates, Susan Smith, slave women, infanticide in China, etc.
Thank you for everything-- having written this and posted it is truly helping me to move on.
Pie
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Hi CP,
Thanks for reading over and considering my comments and for sharing some explanatory notes - I better understand the word selection in these stanzas now.
On L12 by historic I meant something like: ‘I am a child who will have, forever, seen too much.’
On woman, I’m not sure, but using your wording of canals, perhaps something like:
Harbored in adulthood, regret damns
the canals of childish folly,
But you figure, what’s one sin more?
All the best
hobby
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This poem moved me so much... that words will fail me if I try. I am one of those people who believe that there shouldn't be pain in the world. At the same time I do acknowledge it's presence in my and everyone else's life. I try to trivialize it, as far as I am concerned. But I can not detach myself from someone else's pain, even if it is a stranger. And I do not consider you, or anyone on this site, a stranger. Even though I do not know what most of them even look like. Or even their full names for that matter. I guess the site gives me a lot to look forward to, through the day.
I guess I can not even get close to what you feel. but all I can hope and pray for is that you are ok now. I have such a smiling picture of you as you cook away your seven courses, that you wouldn't believe. Ok, that picture doesn't really have a face... just a smile.
Poetically, this piece has tremendous force. Even if you had left out the notes section... I would have got a gut wrenching feeling inside of me. The pain, the guilt, the justification... and most importantly, the helplessness are all so strong that you just had me frozen for a while as I read the poem.
You are a wonderful poetess... and keep your creations pouring... still awaiting your complete seven-course meal.
Cheers.
HM -
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Hi, HM. Very simply-- thank you.
We are in agreement about the pain of the world, as well as in feeling for the people in particular on this site. It makes me happy to know that you think of me foremost as the happy cook as opposed to a forlorn woman in a helpless situation.
I hope now that I have written and posted this piece, I can really move forward. . . maybe get around to scribbling out the next five courses, or better yet, get back in the kitchen and make something delicious.
Pie
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What a powerful write, descriptive and good choice of imaginary. I like what you did with the Girl, Women and Mother :-) You have expressed yourself well. I am sorry to hear of your health troubles. And can only hope it is easier for you to move on form this point I enjoyed your emotional piece.
language: 4, rhythm: 4, subject: 5, tone: 4, form: 4.
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Hi, Cindy. Thank you very much for reading, and for the kind words. It's safe to say now my health problems will be over, and it's no exaggeration to say that this site will help me move on.
Pie
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I'm so pleased that you decided to post this one, cpie.
For me, to put it plainly, it's overwhelming in its intensity and introspection; and the deeper down it goes, the more it strikes and compels me, a male, into self-examination.
The only other comment I can possibly make right now, after two readings, is on its utterly amazing circularity: from the fetal voice opening the poem with its warning lamentation, to its re-emergence, ending the poem, as the subject of a nearly desperate prayer.
I need time and re-re-readings to take all this in, Lauren. I'll be back. Enough to say right now that this is just about the most brave and searing vision of feminine agonizing I've ever seen - on this site or anywhere. As always, you have my admiration, but super-so for this one.
Lad
I've opted out of points for this brief overview. Much more later. -
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Ah, Lad. I am so relieved you were the first to reply to this one. I need a metaphorical hand to hold for this journey. I am also relieved and pleased that you noticed the circularity-- that was, for me, perhaps the most vital aspect of the piece. This version was altered somewhat from the one I sent you before-- the changes I made were specifically to bolster the circularity, to underscore the blurring between self/mother/child/sister.
I await your deeper analysis with bated breath.
Luvya!
Lauren
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