Fall Backward
on my birthday
with thanks to Hopkins and Frost
Ohio spoke.
Fanfares echo from the rifle range,
nu-cu-lar and near.
Worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie
neglected in my yard.
Ankle-deep, with odd, undaunted joy,
I rake democracy:
Wind treats the trees,
maple, apple, willow, sumac.
Rain turns a trick.
Blood and gold change hands.
Patriarch and sapling ease
out of values; they strip
to bathe without
shame or umbrage.
I’m raking in
the rain, wealth
from any cloud or branch.
Each bamboo sweep
is a swing-state avalanche.
You come too.
Spread hope, a blue tarp,
under my poem.
Machining Their Story
Les straightened the recliner and opened our interview—
We had lost our father. My mother was supporting three boys.
She was a weaver in the woolen mill. Brampton closed down
within two years. We were up against it.
Small hells broke loose. Folks in his lack-luck town
knew how to yank themselves back to work:
what they called Yankee ingenuity .
Boys banked on stamina, Scout’s honor: killed fowl,
peddled news, popcorn; shored up sills and siblings;
split and hauled bucks, forests; camped on the precipice;
hands hankered to tinker, minds to fine-tune steel.
Daughters came to grips with an axe, mop, skillet, needle
or mangle; infants fell into place; formula warmed before
dads did. Third shift she ran wool or rayon. Hooked
lampshades with Praying Hands , tuned up the Firebird.
There was always that tenseness about not having enough.
Just a fact of life: we never went hungry.
I type and weep.
Blind Justice, peel your eyes!
Is Childhood none of your business?
Don’t make us sound so noble and somber.
Correct. Delete.
Remember after work we drove down to Roseland
and danced like fools to bands you couldn’t dream of.
(copyright by the author, 2004) |
Verandah Porche of Guilford,Vermont Here I am, poet in residence with steel toed shoes and earplugs, outside the Weave Room of the Dorr Woolen Mill, Newport,NH, in 2001. Dorr, the last woolen mill in NH closed in 2003. Excerpts from the narratives and photographic portraits of workers by Bill Hackwellare currently on display as part of an exhibition of international tapestry weaving at the mill. Self Portraits in Newport: SPIN in the Millennium, a shared narrative project highlighting creativity in industrial life. Read more about SPIN and its context at http://www.guildinstitute.org/SPIN.htm
(Democracy Week email: Dear Verandah, The portrait is beautiful. I'm glad we know the subject is a poet; otherwise the urge to sit down next to her and try to cheer her up would be overwhelming.” –editor. Reply: “Expression: Overwhelmed with compassion and friendship for workers.” –Verandah.) |
