Poetry / Wood Bees
Your tour guide might say
Here’s the famous hillside
Where Patsy Cline never died,
Where your grandmother
Left her clean linens in heaps
Closed her eyes to the fiery sky
And cried to the plaints
Of “Sweet Dreams.”
Your grandmother might say
Here’s the tree with skeleton wings
Your father never climbed,
She might move her hand across
An invisible line and say this is where
The clothesline was strung too high,
And then kneel down
One knee at a time, and say,
This is where I buried the key.
The exterminator might
Show up in a cloud of pesticide
Saying wood bees rarely sting,
Leading you around the house
With alluring language,
He’ll call the nests galleries.
He’ll call the sawdust frass.
He might work a splinter
Out of a calloused fingertip
Look down at the grass and
Ask who has been doing
All of this digging.
And later on, when it’s just you
And a broom sweeping up onion skins
Off the old kitchen floor,
You’ll find light sneaking in
At all the wrong angles
Contaminating corners the dark
Had kept clean.
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August 25, 2006
Deleted User
This is compelling, but I’m not certain its fully explored as yet. I do like one section in particular.
Your grandmother might say
Here’s the tree with skeleton wings
Your father never climbed,
She might move her hand across
An invisible line and say this is where
The clothesline was strung too high,
And then kneel down
One knee at a time, and say,
This is where I buried the key.
Keep it up, I’d like to see more from your work.
Laura
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I like the way this is written and the language used. It strikes me as a little unclear as to what you’re trying to say, but even so it was pleasant to read.
this sounds like the overall poem is about a house. an old house that was inhabited by family of the speaker, now inhabited by the speaker, and in need of fumigating, hence the exterminator.
i like the style and the pauses with the breaks in lines and stanzas. it gives it the halting feel that sometimes comes with remembering things: the voice of the grandmother, tourguide, and exterminator.
but the first three stanzas are all what those people “might say”. not what they definitely would say. im not sure if the last stanza is what the speaker would definitely say, or if its what the reader would say, because of the use of “you”. it feels dirty, though, “Contaminating corners the dark/had kept clean.” does this mean secrets? using a house that hasnt been used in a long time? onion skins just for cooking or to facilitate crying? who has been doing all of this digging, and is it just physical digging? there are lots of questions that are raised but are left to be answered.
overall, i think this is a haunting poem, and i really enjoyed reading it.
I just love this and it’s one of the best I’ve read here. Lyrical, mysterious. I get a sense of time past, time present, of Proust perhaps in a different way. Do we want to know and remember, bring things to light, or is it better to let things best remain hidden. This is such a poignant piece. Kudos to you. Thanks for the read. I love the 2nd stanza the best for some reason, just resonates with me.
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