The RetroLounge Daily Poem Thread (Sat 2/28/2009)

[RetroLounge]

Our Lady of The Birds

14th Street, the gentrified give a wide berth
to her prayers. Her dirt is offensive
and all the pigeons seem diseased.

She’s old, the color of dust-covered patent leather,
layers of bad smelling clothes
hang off her thin body. Her gray hair is cut close.

At the House of Ruth, the shelter for women,
some sit outside with the bruises and a look I’ve seen
in my mother’s kitchen. The stare of her marriage

before she put the knife in her husband’s chest
and left him to drive himself to the hospital, ending
the beatings, after eighteen years of them.

He drove past woods and fields, the knife handle
in his peripheral vision, the blade cutting a little every time
he turned the wheel to Mercy.

Said he was lucky the blade missed his heart,
only thing that kept him from passing out and dying
beside the road was to focus on all those birds

flying past the windshield. Every afternoon
the old lady tosses seeds, the pigeons gather
at her different sized and colored shoes.

The bruised women watch from the yard
as the old lady raises her arms
and birds rise like prayers in her hands.

Gary Copeland Lilley

********************

:hi:

RL

[Chorophyll]

1. ...

Whew.

:hi:

[RetroLounge]

3. Isn't this gorgeous?

left me breathless...

:hi:

RL

[Chorophyll]

5. Yep. When it went from this:

At the House of Ruth, the shelter for women,
some sit outside with the bruises and a look I’ve seen
in my mother’s kitchen.

to this:

The stare of her marriage
before she put the knife in her husband’s chest

I kind of went, "unh..." You know what I mean?

[RetroLounge]

7. Yeah, I know. Jarring yet perfect.

I found this poem in Kim Addonizio's new book on craft.

and there are some nice interviews with him on youtube.

:hi:

RL

[Tuesday Afternoon]

2. cathartic

and lovely the way it ends. :donut: :hi:

[RetroLounge]

4. Yes, he ends it perfectly lovely...

:hi:

RL

[FedUpWithIt All]

6. My heart is racing.

Literally. My mother stabbed her boyfriend once. It was a 4 inch paring knife and was stuck into his chest right below his shoulder. After the "stabbing" they "made up". Worried about consequenses, he did not go to the hospital. He stuffed some material on the wound and they taped it.

Later, walking in a supermarket there were little drops of his blood, looked like rose petals, in a trail behind him. I have no idea if my mother noticed. If she did she said nothing.

Sigh.

Edited to add...sorry for this. You just never can tell what is going to set the physical response off. It rarely happens to me anymore. It hasn't stopped yet. I think i am going to go take a shower and cry.

[RetroLounge]

8. Woah...

That's intense.

:hug:

RL

[FedUpWithIt All]

11. Yeah, sorry.

My reaction caught me off guard.

Testament to the brilliance of the poem i guess.

:hug:

[RetroLounge]

14. No apologies needed.

and yes, good poems will do that...

:hug:

RL

[CaliforniaPeggy]

9. My dear Retro...

Oh, lovely, my dear Retro...

I love how it twists and weaves, just like the knife in his chest.

Thank you...

[RetroLounge]

10. ...

:hi:

RL

[blueraven95]

12. Woah

just woah.








:hi:

[RetroLounge]

13. I know!

:wow:

RL