Having received my COVID booster shot a couple days ago, my mind is a bit squarely and I'm certainly in sound body at the moment, but nevertheless....I've read and re-read your extract and managed to craft a response. First...I'm struck by the pain of what you write, and I imagine (but of course could be quite wrong) that it might be sim…
Having received my COVID booster shot a couple days ago, my mind is a bit squarely and I'm certainly in sound body at the moment, but nevertheless....I've read and re-read your extract and managed to craft a response. First...I'm struck by the pain of what you write, and I imagine (but of course could be quite wrong) that it might be similar to what my mother felt growing up. She had a stepfather, but of course never knew her biological father, or he was, until a few years ago when she was in her early 60s. A good man was in her life as she grew up, but it wasn't the same as knowing who she came from and she often felt without mooring and struggled to grow into the woman and mother she is now. Some things she still struggles with and probably will for the rest of her life, burned as they are into her experience and sense of self. I've no idea if my efforts fit entirely with the extract. I had to travel backwards. My body is a battlefield currently. There was a small window of time, however, when I was quite sure of my body's rightness and how I fit into it. This time a poem... Normally I'd work and work and hone things but I try to keep that to a minimum and just write from my center in response to your extracts..
**********************************
Cannonball
Long before bad joints, fatigue, and disability
and before blond haired blue eyed toddlers in check out lines
gaped at my darkness from their mother’s arms,
I lived in my skin like it was a cape.
Ages five through eight.
My smiling uncle called me his Emma Buckwheats, and
I was a warm brown ribbon of sun-drenched chocolate
running through the sprinkler in my polka
dotted one-piece and yellow arm floaties.
I was a chocolate baby cannonball
plunging into the pool with black pigtails and
cocoa hands with bright pink nail beds gripping my knees.
A large white birthmark covered my throat.
Brought into sharp relief by hours of sun
it looked like the outline of a new and mysterious country.
Sometimes, when the kids on the beach asked about it,
I’d say ‘A shark bit me,' hand on my hip and matter of fact
I lived in my skin like it was a Cape... Love this line Amy. As if you could be a heroine in waiting, ready to fly, mysterious, and the audacity and humour to defy shark-death. Long live the Cape!
I love how you are using these prompts to write fast and with such power, Amy! This one is so vivid, so defiant...and yet poignant because of the later years of pain we know is ahead. I'm camping this weekend but I will lay it up on Tuesday and you can say how you'd like the formatting to change once it's live, yes? Tan xx
Amy - just thinking: would you like to lay up your poem and then send it to me as an image? I'm happy to make an exception to the usual layout so that your poem holds the formatting you intend for it? I'm a bit late creating the August Issue page on the book site this month as I'm getting the children ready for a return to school, so there is no time pressure for you on this. I will add it whenever you can send it through to me by email to editor at selkiepress dot com ...
I realise my suggestion to make an image of the poem so the line breaks are right for you might be more work than you have time or health for right now? So I've put it online and can easily make line changes if you let me know. Best as ever, Tan x
I love that poem, Amy. And I totally get that feeling of the body being a battleground. It interests me that we have such different diagnoses, but such connected responses to them.
Having received my COVID booster shot a couple days ago, my mind is a bit squarely and I'm certainly in sound body at the moment, but nevertheless....I've read and re-read your extract and managed to craft a response. First...I'm struck by the pain of what you write, and I imagine (but of course could be quite wrong) that it might be similar to what my mother felt growing up. She had a stepfather, but of course never knew her biological father, or he was, until a few years ago when she was in her early 60s. A good man was in her life as she grew up, but it wasn't the same as knowing who she came from and she often felt without mooring and struggled to grow into the woman and mother she is now. Some things she still struggles with and probably will for the rest of her life, burned as they are into her experience and sense of self. I've no idea if my efforts fit entirely with the extract. I had to travel backwards. My body is a battlefield currently. There was a small window of time, however, when I was quite sure of my body's rightness and how I fit into it. This time a poem... Normally I'd work and work and hone things but I try to keep that to a minimum and just write from my center in response to your extracts..
**********************************
Cannonball
Long before bad joints, fatigue, and disability
and before blond haired blue eyed toddlers in check out lines
gaped at my darkness from their mother’s arms,
I lived in my skin like it was a cape.
Ages five through eight.
My smiling uncle called me his Emma Buckwheats, and
I was a warm brown ribbon of sun-drenched chocolate
running through the sprinkler in my polka
dotted one-piece and yellow arm floaties.
I was a chocolate baby cannonball
plunging into the pool with black pigtails and
cocoa hands with bright pink nail beds gripping my knees.
A large white birthmark covered my throat.
Brought into sharp relief by hours of sun
it looked like the outline of a new and mysterious country.
Sometimes, when the kids on the beach asked about it,
I’d say ‘A shark bit me,' hand on my hip and matter of fact
just to shock and see their eyes bulge.
I lived in my skin like it was a Cape... Love this line Amy. As if you could be a heroine in waiting, ready to fly, mysterious, and the audacity and humour to defy shark-death. Long live the Cape!
Thank you, Jean :-) That little girl was plucky and made sure the world knew it!
Hope she still is...
Oh dear…the formatting didn’t keep the lines as I’ve written them.
I love how you are using these prompts to write fast and with such power, Amy! This one is so vivid, so defiant...and yet poignant because of the later years of pain we know is ahead. I'm camping this weekend but I will lay it up on Tuesday and you can say how you'd like the formatting to change once it's live, yes? Tan xx
Absolutely! And lovely to hear you’re camping. Enjoy!
Amy - just thinking: would you like to lay up your poem and then send it to me as an image? I'm happy to make an exception to the usual layout so that your poem holds the formatting you intend for it? I'm a bit late creating the August Issue page on the book site this month as I'm getting the children ready for a return to school, so there is no time pressure for you on this. I will add it whenever you can send it through to me by email to editor at selkiepress dot com ...
I realise my suggestion to make an image of the poem so the line breaks are right for you might be more work than you have time or health for right now? So I've put it online and can easily make line changes if you let me know. Best as ever, Tan x
https://thecureforsleep.com/august-issue-sizeshape/#AmyMillios
I love that poem, Amy. And I totally get that feeling of the body being a battleground. It interests me that we have such different diagnoses, but such connected responses to them.