Everyone I love is named
after characters in
favourite books. When I
met you each,
children were jealous.
Their names are not
ink-shot like black silk
on wings of beetle paper
Don’t make their
monikers out loud.
Choose your family:
I have so many mothers
we all milk up somewhere
I am multiple daughters
with so many children
endless brothers and grandkids
Take much care (remember this)
so every little forehead
each
unbruised
face
is cupped with both hands,
drawn from blank pages
and kissed and kissed and kissed again
On the days when
morning is a mountain
remember the novel
bramble of unrelated family
black tangle and admire
the fruit in our blood.
I
pick
your
names
like
soft
black
berries.
___________________________________
Today's poem is based on suggestions from two peeps and an aunty:
- @sorrel_smith: "When you meet someone who's named their kids what you wanted to name your kids, but couldn't"
- @realnixwilliams: "picking blackberries!"
- Janet Punch: "mothers and daughters"
You know that old saying "friends are the family you choose"? That's crap. Firstly, friends aren't a supermarket, and secondly, once you leave home you can choose your family.
Onoma is Greek for 'name'.
I have been reading Siri Hustvedt's new novel 'The summer without men', and it is wonderful in all sorts of ways. At the end of a crappy day, this passage where she briefly addresses us as readers surprised me into tears:
"But before I get to that, I want to tell you, Gentle Person out there, that if you are here with me now, on the page, I mean, if you have come to this paragraph, if you have not given up and sent me, Mia, flying across the room or even if you have, but you got to wondering whether something might not happen soon and picked me up again and are reading still, then I want to reach out for you and take your face in both my hands and cover you with kisses, kisses on your cheeks and chin and all over your forehead and on the bridge of your (variously shaped) nose, because I am yours, all yours. I just wanted you to know."
It is unexpected to be suddenly loved by a book.
4 comments:
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I like it.
I'm not sure why, but I find the
each
unbruised
face
spaced out there really moving.
I'm not sure why I do too.
I thought slowly of my small boy's face. How his is soft and clear, but so many aren't. And how they all should be clear like his.
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