Thread: Given Notice

What of
the waif with long wandering hair,
dark auburn, airborne in the night?
Barefooted because shoes are boats
anchored with lace rigging.

Mirror shows her a cellophane face,
flattened like a dead cankerworm moth,
inexact in the certainty of her beauty.

Catholic girl head full of contritions,
mouthful of nun's ruler slapping her tongue
till she can only speak through her eyes,
never seen beneath lid, feathers lowered.

Home is as homely as a strict homily
where cells are disguised as lush rooms.
She will never find the rusted key.

Scissors are the cutting stone in bathroom,
hunks of glinting hair lie on pink tiles.
Out from the closet comes black, like a storm,
boy hair dyed black onyx; on fair skin shouts.

Ears stuffed with bird’s nests and eyes
Band Aid shut, her parents walk by her
like she wasn’t a thirteen year old ruin.

Noticed when she was gone for two days.
Mother made up for the police and father
offering them a brandy before the search
like she was lost for her coming out party.

Flashlights, white circles in the woods,
settled on her lying near an oak tree;
sucking her thumb.

Oh this is sad! But the passage of the words came smoothly.

I pity the lil' homeless girl who was stuck in a catholic home all in the name of Help! Running away was futile.

'Till she could speak only through her eyes...' That reminds me of a Catholic boarding school my parents kicked against when I was still little. Awful, I must say. I'm a Catholic with no intention of running my church down.

Laurie, I had other lines I connected brightly with events that I am aware of in the past but this one was so intense:

Flashlights,
white circles in the woods settled her lying near an oak tree;
sucking her thumb.

Powerful imagery on display here. Poor girl. Why would they want to send her back into that dark home. Well penned, poem, Laurie.


If you won't mind my asking, what inspired you to write this?


Uzo.

Uzo, to answer the last first. Being the Confessional poet, here, I was writing about a period in my life where living in a WASP household was nearly unbearable. Material things weighed more heavily in my parent's mind than even, I, their daughter. No "boarding" Catholic school just your daily parochial school, I returning home anxious to wear black, chop off and dye prized hair, desperately needing be noticed. e.g.

Ears stuffed with bird’s nests and eyes
Band Aid shut, her parents walk by her
like she wasn’t a thirteen year old ruin.

I'm pleased you liked the ending. Here is where I especially used creative license. A metaphor for state of mind.

I get you identify on some level. The outcome of these kinds of poems brings me catharsis which is, of course, a healthy thing.

Very glad that you liked the imagery. Made effort to keep it balanced throughout. Laurie

Woosh! Thanks for drawing my attention to that stanza. I was obviously drawn to the chain of certain events that took place in my past as I followed the strong imagery of your poem. Pardon my haste.

Nothing to pardon, my friend! A PM is coming your way.

Poor girl. It really seems like her guardians didn't care about her. At least the cops found her in the end. I liked "cells are disguised as lush rooms".

Thanks, caelum. I'm glad you liked the analolgy. Laurie

My dearest Laurie, how my heart aches for I knew immediately that this was autobiographical. What I am about to say is definitely not PC, but I don't care. I've grown to abhor your father and stepmother, sadistic phonies both. Their child is missing for two days and mater dear is primping and preening for the police as dear old dad is pouring them brandy as if there was something to celebrate. I'll leave it at that because I feel a full blown rant coming on. Yet again, you've made me realize how fortunate I was to have great parents, which I thought was the norm, so sadly I've found (after reading the stories of so many others here) that my childhood was the exception. This is gripping, but I've come to expect nothing less from you, and stunningly evocative. S4 is especially brilliant and there are far too many stellar lines to cite. One nit, nuns should be nun's and the image of the slap is gut wrenching. One suggestion, in S1 perhaps drop the shoe before lace, it's not necessary and is too close to shoe in the previous line. I doubt you could have come up with a more powerful ending. Excellent work, as always.

Beautifully written and unquestionably moving. I don't think I have any criticism here, except maybe that this is so emotional, some might be in tears and get their keyboards sticky from them.

Some of the uses of words in the third stanza seem almost humorous, but coupled with the serious undertone and emotional story it becomes a dark humour:

Catholic girl head full of contritions,
mouthful of nuns ruler slapping her tongue

"Head full of contritions[...] mouthful of nuns[...]" is what I mainly refer to.

As I said before, incredibly moving, and a piece I will probably end up going back to, just to enjoy over and over again. Extremely well done, SilverMoon.

painful.

Thank you so, Nick. Mine is a very emotional, "raw" piece and I do try to inject works of this type with lighter imagery as you noted. I and the reader need some form of, even if light, comic releif. I never want my poems to weigh too heavily as to depress. To cause to feel deeply as you? Yes. That's my aim. I'm honored that you might read again but don't let those key pads get sticky or I might have to write a poem about that!

Arc, may I take your word "painful" as a compliment? I mostly write about The Human Condition and with this, of course, comes pain. Thank you so much for acknowleging my poem.

Laurie

Lisa, my good friend, thank you for validating what I went through, especially during my formative years. And it must sound especially horrific, being that you came from a kind family. But here I am, the better person, using them for my art. I've told you this before and will now make it an announcement. My goal is to "Turn Tragedy into Art".

Thank you for siting your favorite lines and for your grammatical points. I'll get to it right away!

A heartbreaking story Laurie. I know I've already commented on AA, but that last line really packs a punch.

Thank you, Cindy. A regressive state can be almost as frightening as death.