Sharon Olds writes a poem about growing up . . .
The Moment
by: Sharon Olds
When I saw the dark Egyptian stain,
I went down into the house to find you, Mother--
past the grandfather clock, with its huge
ochre moon, past the burnt
sienna woodwork, rubbed and glazed.
I went deeper and deeper down into the
body of the house, down below the
level of the earth. It must have been
the maid's day off, for I found you there
where I had never found you, by the wash tubs,
your hands thrust deep in soapy water,
and above your head, the blazing windows
at the surface of the ground.
You looked up from the iron sink,
a small haggard pretty woman
of 40, one week divorced.
"I've got my period, Mom," I said,
and saw your face abruptly break open and
glow with joy. "Baby," you said,
coming toward me, hands out and
covered with tiny delicate bubbles like seeds.
It's a tender moment between daughter and mother. An admission and a submission. Olds tells her newly divorced mother that she's started menstruating, and she submits to her mother's love and support. There are things over which we have no power, physical things like menstruation, puberty, aging. We all have to undergo these normal human processes. It's part of being alive.
Yesterday, I was informed that President 47 and Congressional Republicans were putting a "pause" on all federal grant funds, including those from the NEA (from which I was awarded almost $17,000 for a Big Read programming series). Also yesterday, a federal judge paused the pause until this coming Monday, when a ruling would be made. Powerless, I had to submit to the situation.
This morning, I again submitted. This time it was a request for the remaining funds of the grant (a little less than $5,000). The request was approved within ten minutes, and I received a message from Arts Midwest/NEA that the check was being cut and sent today. And my day suddenly got better. Crisis averted.
I have a feeling that, in the next four years, we're all going to be experiencing a lot of these moments of powerless submission. Will I try to fight back? Of course, when fighting back will accomplish something, like this morning. Otherwise, I will just . . . deal. Endure.
But I can celebrate tonight a small victory in a country that seems to be disintegrating as I watch. The Republicans took it on the chin today. That is cause to party a little.
Saint Marty wrote a poem today to give himself a laugh, based on the following prompt from The Daily Poet:
Write a "Twitter poem"--a poem where each stanza is a complete thought or sentence not more than 140 characters in length. To keep with this Twitter theme, have each stanza be about a unique topic not related to the stanza above or below it.
NOTE: This prompt predates the takeover of Twitter by President Musk.
#Poet
by: Martin Achatz
Is there such a thing
as too much poetry? Asking
for a friend.
#EmilyDickinson
I'd like to go fishing
with her, but she just
catches and releases.
#ElizabethBishop
She asked me to dress
up like the pope for our
date. Don't know why.
#SharonOlds
Looking for someone
to mow his lawn.
It's out of control.
#WaltWhitman
Don't go for a walk
with him. He always
picks the wrong road,
all rocky and muddy.
#RobertFrost
What's so special about
a goddam wheelbarrow?
#WCWilliams
Whatever you do,
don't ask about
her father.
#SylviaPlath
How many times
is he going to point
out another stupid crow?
#WallaceStevens
When the moon is full
as an onion, he gets
a little crazy.
#AllenGinsberg
Never ask
if she knows any
good jokes.
#PatriciaLockwood
She's got a good
ear. Tell her
your problems.
#CarolynForché
She's still rising
like Easter bread.
#MayaAngelou
❤️
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