Samantha’s Daily Poem
There is nothing a mouth can say
Today I heard one of those stories
the kind that hollows out your head
and makes you say
no
no
no
into the palm that stays
over your mouth
which you leave there for a long time
because there is nothing
a mouth can say
to reverse the absence
of so many people
in one family
in one moment
and you imagine the ones
left behind
and how they bend over
under the days
lined up like lead
each one full of reminders
that must be carried.
Maybe you won’t forget
In case your memories are scrubbed
by the lick of the air
as you enter the cluttered glare
of this place
let me tell you about this time
when you lay like a leaf
in the centre of me
about the dosas you craved
at strange hours
and how the young Indian waiters
couldn’t believe how much I ate
and the brave one
who asked me why
I ate alone
about all the books we read
one a day
as I lay on the couch
sobbing about the civil war
or the French one
whose words we sipped
like sherry
about the way your brother asked
can I cuddle in
and I thought he meant to me
until he went under the covers
and put his cheek
on my belly
and the time you waved
on the ultrasound
in the funny way your dad and I wave
to each other
like squirrels flirting
or maybe you won’t forget
maybe when I’m old
and my skin hangs
like a thin sheet off my nose
and my bones have yellowed
and folded into each other
maybe then you will take my hand
in yours and whisper
that was peaceful
wasn’t it
before the breath
when we were two
yet one.
Pregnant
You occupy my body quietly
leashed to the stack of my bones
and despite my roundness
I keep forgetting about you
the same way I forget my memories
burrowed and still
it’s in the bath
where we connect
every evening
as the mud on my tongue
slides down into the rest of me
and I flee the heavy tilt
of smells and spin
by floating with you
in the slippery warmth
hello
I say
and I imagine you
scuttling up
towards the roof
of my ribs
like a fish
in a bowl
who sees he is about
to be fed
I tell you all sorts of things
like how we live on a lake
and that your dad works very hard
to make us laugh
and sorry about all
the salt and vinegar chips
but I’m hoping
it’s just a phase
I listen hard
just in case you slip
a secret through the maze
of our togetherness
and tonight you did
a flutter in the crowd
of my own thoughts
I know it was you
because my voice
is never so brave
please
you said
clear as a rain drop
a patient word
an echo of vulnerability
that shook me
with the strength
of its truth.
Ignite
Sometimes he looks at me
like we just met
and he wonders
if it will always
be this good
and I want to tell him
thank you
but not in words
I want to button myself up
inside the wet room of his heart
and press the hushed bigness
of my gratitude
into its soft walls
gratitude
for seeing the light
that ignites
my plainest self
the way I imagine
the beetle feels
about the moon
as it hoists itself up
in the thick dark sky
collapsing the day
and transforming him from a dull thing
crawling along the lumpy earth
into a wink of light
finally
he is a firefly again
lit up by the moon
releasing his luminous secret
to the world again.
Your dad’s version of Humpty Dumpty’s backstory
You lay in the dark
your eyes open
even though we have tried
all our tricks
to get you to sleep
you have begged so hard
to watch Humpty on youtube
that you are not a body anymore
but a writhing sack of outrage
exhausted
your dad stares
at the same spot on the ceiling
and gives you his version
of Humpty Dumpty’s backstory
about the two brothers
nobody talks about
how Darryl was the athletic one
who should have been on the wall
about Harold
who ironically
sold insurance
how Mr. and Mrs. Dumpty
didn’t make it
drifting apart
unable to cope with the grief
both quietly taking to the drink
I don’t know when
it was that you drifted off
but when you woke up
twelve hours later
you were the happiest
you’ve been in weeks
like a pin had popped
an anxiety that had been swelling
in your head
as though finally so much
had been answered.
