She washes the blood rose smudge
from the knife’s edge of his collar
that she pressed so clean,
so white, the steam fogging
the windows of their tenth December.
She sees the tree from the laundry room,
squat-fat and decked with garish glitz—
she rubs and rubs at the fabric—
the gifts on the skirt
a jumble of dancing bears,
candy canes, and the gold
glint of bows in faerie light.
Sleeping in his chair tonight,
wine glass tipped over an
ambivalent purple stain
on a carpet they had laid
down five springs ago,
strewn with the toys
where their children played
at not knowing.
Friction and knuckles
brought only a pink blur
and the sound of gritting
heat.
She sees a screw in the tree
she assembled with the kids
while he…he…
She looks up and sees
herself in the window,
hair hanging limp on her cheeks,
a hole in her faded red
t-shirt, the edges of sweatpants
brown from the floor
and cries.
Please tell me what you think
Sorry, you cannot respond to an archived poemReviews
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Bill, I can only admire the strength of a rough draft of this quality. The poem is loaded with illusions of Christmas cheer in a house where known infidelity and maybe even spousal physical battering ("and cries"), or at least, neglect, are rampant. Even the kids "play at not knowing" - a very fine line, worlds in it in only four words. And that's what I like about this whole sad scene - its subtlety, its evocation of domestic horror in undertones.
The shirt, its collar and fabric, the tree's skirt, her t-shirt and sweat pants - the poem sews those articles of clothing with a fine thread throughout the scene, a sad scene "she sees". That doubled point of view, hers and the poet's on hers - nice work. And that further little thing she sees, that "screw" in the tree, connects right back up to that lipped "blood rose smudge" on the guy's collar, maybe even images what the wayward husband has done to her, her life.
I also like the use of colors and shines in the poem, beautifully detailed and meaningful, especially that "gold / glint of bows in fairie light..." and that "purple" wine stain. That takes poetic skill, to create, with hints, a whole opposite scenery from what it all is "supposed" to be on their "tenth December." Talk about a winter of their discontent!
Honestly, except for a couple minor thoughts on this draft, I have no suggestions to make. It's great. As to those thoughts, maybe "gritted" would work better? and maybe "brown" would be more allusive as "stained", which might more fully take in those "cries"?
Helluva good one, Bill. The other side of Christmas cheer that dare not speak its name.
Lad. Rewarded 8
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I think I'd rather let you finish it,
...seems pretty bloody good so far... harsh subject ... one word "ambivalent", did you mean "ambiguous"? Hard to understand how she would be ambivalent about a stain, if she's murdered him it's understandable but I didn't get that from the rest... I await your finished draft with interest - Best RA. Rewarded 6
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Oh, is there any time of year when foibles and hypocrisies are so easily visible, then by the glow of candy-colored light? It's interesting, having just read "Apres L'Affair" to come to this one-- the other side of the domestic coin, the woman's side-- decidedly unsexy now, in her mommy years, her years of sweatpants and laundry and dirty floors. It's also interesting how you have taken the other cliche of an affair, the stain on the collar, and imbued it with such mystery. Is it blood or wine or lipstick she washes?
I love how this reads like a short story-- I enjoy poems that manage, like the best short stories, to say so much with a single scene. The idea of a woman, alone, (literally or just figuratively is up for grabs as well), scrubbing either blood or wine or lipstick a few feet from the artificial cheeriness of the Christmas tree is painful enough.
Bringing the man into it, the stain on the floor, where once again, we ask, blood or wine? And whose blood-- hers, with her vision of knuckles and pink blurs, or his?
As a woman, thinking of knuckles and pink blurs also made me think of sexual abuse in addition to the garden variety domestic violence-- I think of men's hands gripping women by the hair, their knuckles all that's visible in the tangles, shoving a woman's face down into the pink, and "gritting heat." Men often grind their teeth when they're getting oral sex, and women? Sometimes want to, (grit their teeth) esp. if they're being forced into it. I am very impressed at how you handled this, Brandon. A subject like this could so easily devolve into a bloody Lifetime movie starring Valerie Bertinelli or the like.
I think that fourth stanza is the trickiest, however, and the weakest of the whole. On the one hand, I find it strong for the reasons mentioned above--
"Friction and knuckles
brought only a pink blur
and the sound of gritting
heat."
Excellent.
But I'm not so sure how the rest works.
"She sees a screw in the tree
she assembled with the kids
while he…he…"
It may be something as simply as this needs to be its own stanza. Or perhaps the lines should be reversed, so from "the children playing at not knowing. . ." (another brilliant line, BTW), it could read:
She sees a screw in the tree
she assembled with the kids
Friction and knuckles
brought only a pink blur
and the sound of gritting
heat . . .
I would also advise you to lose the "he. . . he. . ." That struck me as melodramatic-- very much like something I would expect to see on a made-for-TV-movie. The rest of the poem tells us that violence is occurring in this home-- and the question remains is how much longer is it going to continue? And will it end in someone dying?
I think the final stanza is right for an ending-- she cries, but the ambiguity of her situation makes me wonder, is she a victim? Is she going to continue to be a victim? Or is she shedding tears of relief and triumph for having finally taken the screws to him?
I would also suggest reading some poems by Sharon Olds. My question to you is, how much do you want to show? The hints of violence in this are enough to chill this reader. But I don't think you should be reticent about the details either, if you don't want to be. Olds has some poems that are pretty brutal.
I must echo riveralex when I say that this is pretty bloody good for a first draft.
Lauren
Lad
November 12, 2007
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