Saturday, March 11, 2006

For Junior

There he lay
in my palm.
Wet and rubbery.
So shrunk.
A miniature
me, who couldn’t
wait till
count nine
to be free.
Jumped the
gun in four.
“If it were a
girl,” the doctor
says, “this miscarriage
wouldn’t have happened”.
Meaning
guys don’t
stick on.
In or out
of the womb.
I burn his
delicate features
in my memory.
So if I were to
pass by him in
a specimen jar,
I’d say, “Hi kiddo!”
and move on.

9 Comments:

Blogger Gilbert Koh said...

I liked this, but I have some problems with the very last part. It felt too ... flippant.

4:03 PM  
Blogger Dan Husain said...

Well, I feel your strength lies in painting vignettes in your poetry. Wonderful work! :-)

Cheers

Dan

12:06 AM  
Blogger camera shy said...

“If it were a
girl,” the doctor
says, “this miscarriage
wouldn’t have happened”.
Meaning
guys don’t
stick on.
In or out
of the womb.
I burn his
delicate features
in my memory


this part was excellent
loved these lines

10:04 AM  
Blogger ~River~ said...

I actually liked the way the poem ended. The 'flippancy' made it that much more poignant.

12:41 AM  
Blogger Inkblot said...

hits hard. yes, it does.
especially when you write it so simply.

8:12 AM  
Blogger sophie said...

wow ...i came from dan

7:23 PM  
Blogger Ardra said...

gasp...
ouch...

12:24 AM  
Blogger ~River~ said...

New template!!! I like. :)

10:18 AM  
Blogger Amy said...

This is haunting and even frightening. The ending strikes me as a sarcastic, even bitter response by the mother, still stuck in grief.

Perhaps she (the narrator) is also making a statement about separating herself from an emotional connection to the physical child by "burning" him into her memory. Perhaps this is less painful, or seems as if it would be.

12:31 PM  

Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home