Today's poem is by Kate Northrop
The Dead
Their reward is
they become innocent again,and when they reappear in memory
death has erased
the blurs, given them boundaries. They riseand move through their new world with clean,
clear edges. My grandmother, in particular
has become buoyant, unattached finallyfrom her histories, from the trappings
of family. By no means was shea good woman. But the dead don't care anymore for that.
Weightless, they no longer assume
responsibility, they no longerhave bodies. Once,
at the end of August, after swimming
in the muddy pondI'd gone into the living room, cool
as vodka, where my grandmother
sat. Greed thins a woman,and I remember her rings, bigger
than her fingers.
Water ran down my legsonto the floor becoming slippery
and my grandmother, her breath
scratchy from cigarettes and blended whiskey,leaned into my ear and whispered
you're an ugly girl. Do I haveto forgive her? My mother tells me
no one ever loved her,
so when I see her, I see her again in the park,
in her pink tailored suit, suede pumps,I see her moving among the strange
gentlemen that have gathered, the dark
powerful men. She is still young, blondeand most of all, she is beyond reach, beautiful.
Copyright © 2002 Kate Northrop All rights reserved
from back through interruption
The Kent State University Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
Please support
Verse Daily's very generous sponsors:
Sponsor Verse
Daily!
Home
Archives
Web Monthly Features
About Verse Daily
FAQs
Contact Verse Daily
Publications Noted & Received
Copyright © 2002 Verse Daily
All Rights Reserved
[an error occurred while processing this directive]