Portrait of my Family



 


at 11 o'clock

the moon froze up

the kitchen window

& we crawled into our small holes 

like scurrying rats


the pans fell fast asleep,

snoring out of the oven,

where Ma had tucked them in

like she used to do with me


the tingling faucet sang into the sink

as I tried falling asleep--

its droplets ran along the line 

of a single streak


it was the wintertime when

the radiator decided to

screech a tune

fanning its harsh breath 

against the windowpane

like Papa did when he was

angry


I sat in silence

as a lone potato rolled 

along the floor tiles 

like a sleepless cat

scraping along the dirty surface

& sweeping into my bedroom 


the TV buzzed silently 

in the living room

& I was guided by

the shards of blue light 

that traced the walls 

in a wicked dance


Papa was fast asleep

on the couch,

the quietest he's ever been

after coughing throughout the night

in a desperate howl


I kissed his wrinkly skin

& wished him a good night


"Mama, Ya nemagu spat,"

Mama, I cannot sleep


she clutched me to her chest

until I choked from the sound

of her snores

I hid in the bathroom

to flush out the noise


I remember my brother used to

find comfort in Dedushka's snores 

because it meant he was alive


and all the days of our lives

we shall dwell in the house of the Lord

for many long years


I could not touch knives

after he passed away.

Comments

  1. this poem is beautiful, eery, and haunting- i love the personificaiton of the kitchen appliances, the similies to the sleeping cat, and the force of the last stanza. Do not and could not change a thing.

    ReplyDelete
  2. This extended narrative is quite effective. My favorite stanza is this one:

    I sat in silence
    as a lone potato rolled
    along the floor tiles
    like a sleepless cat
    scraping along the dirty surface
    & sweeping into my bedroom

    There is something engaging and strange about these simple comparisons that boil matters down to essentials. I am a fan of this tone and approach--subtle but weird.

    Not a lot of problems stand out to me here. The poem reads quite nicely, and I don't find myself distracted by lines that seem worn out or confusing. It's a fairly straightforward narrative, and the poem made sense the first time I read it.

    I guess maybe there are a couple of places that feel like missed opportunities to flex your poetic muscle, so to speak, such as the ending of the stanza after the one above. I don't think "wicked dance" really gets the job done visually in that stanza in terms of what you are trying to portray.

    But in general, this is an effective and modern narrative poem that reads like something I might see in a literary journal devoted to autobiographical free verse. Good stuff.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular Posts