I will say, however, the one poem that had the most impact on me emotionally (no, I did not breakdown and bawl or go into a mini-depression, etc, etc) is a very short, simple, plainspeak piece. I kept returning to read it many times while putting the book together, because the spotlight settled on it. For me, it brought out some guilt, for lots of things, and illuminated the root of the problems, not only in other families, but in my own. I was simply too young to know it at the time. Here is the poem:
Whipping Butter
I knew a good whipping
with belts, switches, backhands, shoes, flyswatters
or the nearest corrective device of choice,
but Perry was catching a doozie
as we went up to the screen door.
We dared not knock,
for the flavor of the day might spill in our direction.
Neighbors in Savannah were friendly that way.
We hid under the window and giggled,
figuring he committed some heinous,
third grade crime.
Third graders could be that way.
He didn’t come out to play.
He didn’t come out the next day.
His brother did,
and he told us Perry got a whipping
for leaving breadcrumbs on the butter stick.
Drunken dads can be that way.
I know, I know you don't even know me and I am critiquing your poem :) But I TRULY love this poem. It caught me start to finish. It reminds me of my own roots though the broom was the weapon of choice and sometimes the belt. Will you consider losing the last line? Why tell us it's a drunken dad. I think it's better to wonder why a kid could be so horribly beaten for such a minor thing...I think the reader would guess and fill in the blank. The mystery is larger then the "tell" of the last line. Wish this poem were mine.
ReplyDeleteLois, you have had more than a little success, so your comments are always welcome!
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