#247: Poems for Ma + September Playlist + A bunch of lovely links
Hello!
This one’s a special mini edition for Mum, who is visiting town. Bangalore just got so much cosier with her presence. Delighted! :)
Poetry Corner
Loneliness by Mary Oliver
I too have known loneliness.
I too have known what it is to feel
misunderstood,
rejected, and suddenly
not at all beautiful.
Oh, mother earth,
your comfort is great, your arms never withhold.
It has saved my life to know this.
Your rivers flowing, your roses opening in the morning.
Oh, motions of tenderness!Golden Hour by Jennifer Polson Peterson
When sidelong hours reach deep
into the house, objects turn
unbearably distinct and I think
of girlhood, how the sinking golden light
had to be seized, like the last
mouthful of soda in a warm can shared
with my sister. Whether I wanted to or not,
I climbed higher in the tree, higher
than I even liked, to watch the back door
where my mother would appear
and call me in. For years now
a supper made by someone else
is all I want, but this late sun
keeps pressing in. The linen chair
beside the window looks more
salmon-hued and woven now
than at noon. And the not-chair
stretches long beside it. Shadows
sharpen and themselves become
objects filling the room. A child wakes
down the hall. Light gathers on the faces
of ranunculus in a mantle vase,
browning and collapsing
in their centers. I think I have been
sad every afternoon of my life.
Outside a child runs in the grass.
Soon I will appear and call her to me.Speak to Me of My Mother, Who Was She by Jasmine Mans
Tell me about that girl
my mother was,
before she traded in
all her girl
to be my mother.
What did she smell like?
How many friends did she have,
before she had no room?
Before I took up so much
space in her prayers,
who did she pray for?When I am seasick,
the child inside trembles,
terrified of what hides beneath
the blanket of sea. The child in me
longs to spread her toes in the sand,
nestle against the skin of her mother,
breathe the earthy scent beneath palm trees,
squeeze the wrinkled hand for dear life.
Now I live in the salt, the blue, the mystery,
the endlessness of sea expanding. I am lost
in wanting, waiting, watching as clouds
create rain and rain creates ocean.
I see the drama of water around me,
the storms of my fears and yearnings
rise and fall like wind, like waves.
Now I sense my mother within,
her full moon eyes alive in mine,
the light of her voice shining
in my mind, like the sun
untouched by fog. I know
my heart, like the world, will
heal and break, heal and break,
all the while, I gaze
at ocean stars
and float on this
blanket of blue.The Grown Daughter by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
Before my eyes are open,
I reach across the bed
to find my mother’s arm
atop the comforter
still heavy with sleep.
I settle my fingers there
like a butterfly landing
on a flower the same color
as its wings. Grateful
for this simple proof
she is here, soft and breathing
beside me, I fall back asleep,
my hand still touching her.
Long after we wake,
I still feel it in my hand,
not her arm itself,
but the reaching.
Recommended Listening
This month’s playlist emerged rather quickly. Happy dancing!
Links of the Week
Keith Haring illustrated these images on an 80s Amiga computer
A Letter to My Mother That She Will Never Read by Ocean Vuong
“I have no interest in changing the whole world through my writing practice, or in thinking that’s my job. I only have interest in learning what it’s like to say the truth, and to share it when it feels like it could be a fire escape for someone else. I only have interest in being devoted to the things that make me feel more alive, knowing it isn’t hard to slip into feeling the opposite.”
-Lisa Olivera, Fire EscapesRotating Sandwiches (heh)
Sending good vibes for the weekend.
Love,
Ro
Poetry has all the questions and all the answers. Loved this selection!
Today's picks are spot on - featuring my favorite artists and writers. Take the time to hug your mom tight and enjoy her homemade cooking. Thanks for creating this space!