Footnotes

Before I came into this world, She was.

A midwife at my birth, She wiped me clean

Of blood and tears with Her long red hair as She

Sang soothing lullabies, baptizing me with

Fiery kisses in Her own dark and holy name.

In my childhood, I fended for myself like a lamb

Among wolves in the wilderness that this world is,

While She watched from a distance, disguised as

The rays of the summer sun, or as the song of

Birds that the eyes cannot see, but whose flutter

Fills the soul with hope.

After thirteen long winters, She came back

With the warm winds of spring, greeting me like a

Stranger but one who has the air of a distant relative,

Or, that of godmother that one was never introduced to.

She was a gypsy caravan all on Her own:

Bonfires, crystal balls, drunkenness, wild dances,

Milky Way smiles and eyes dark as a moonless night.

She was also the truth in every old wives’ tale

About children kidnapped and sold

Never believed, though often told.

“A dream,” they say, “Poets’ fancy,” but

What do they know, oh, what do they know?

The chains She has around innocent hearts

Are invisible to the crowds and their vulgar arts.

She steals the kisses you kiss; the pleasure you

Measure out in smoky motel rooms is but Her treasure.

The softest whispers you breathe are all Hers too, and

So is every feeling that in your captive heart stirs.

We’re the hydrogen to Her sun, the miners in Her quarry,

The heroes, villains, killers, and weeping victims in

Love’s never-ending story.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I found this poem pretty interesting. I do like the idea of gypsys, tramps and thieves, as Cher sang of...
Reminds me of an outcast woman...a cast away infant...they have each other. She raises him, he loves her for that and doesn't care how everyone looks at her...like she is a Mary Magdalene...
and I see the tears metaphorically that the baby is covered in...the blood and tears of the mother who cannot keep the child, has to give him up...
this took me different places which I like.
If a poem is too specific...then it might tell a story but not allow for interpretation.
Stories when written have to be more concrete...but even those are more fun when left to the imagination.
Give me Liberty or give me a poem that teases my brain and makes me see with my imagination.
j.

[Laz K.]

Thank you, j. I am often tempted to offer some explanation to go along with the poem, but an open-minded, imaginative reader (such as yourself) needs nothing like that. I share your sentiments about poems that "tease" one's imagination. Your comments are very much appreciated.

[Delmar Cooper]

I really like this poem. The comments it drew are almost as interesting as the poetry. Like Jacob I enjoy a work that gives me scope to imagine meanings and symbols that fit my own peculiar notions. This one did and I appreciate it and its author. BTW thanks for not prescribing a meaning in some footnote; I hate that.
Jay's comment is Jay being Jay - a lot of oyster for a small pearl, but it's in there and if you chew and don't swallow whole you can find it.
Thanks for your splendid work.

[JayG]

• She wiped me clean Of blood and tears with Her long red hair as She Sang soothing lullabies, baptizing me with Fiery kisses in Her own dark and holy name.

So an unnamed “she” Used her hair instead of a towel, or cloth, to wipe “tears and blood,” that were on an unknown speaker, of unknown age (It's not child. Why would a baby be covered in blood or tears?). And at the same time that she’s wiping, she’s singing, AND, passionately kissing…and, she has a “dark and holy name?” So…what’s the subject of the sentence?

She’s either extremely multitalented or you didn’t edit all that well.

You talk about this unknown she, and you have intent for who/what she is. Great for you, but the reader can’t read your mind.

So…always do your editing from the chair of as reader, who has none of your intent for the meaning and none of the backstory you have that provides the context the reader.

[Laz K.]

"Why would a baby be covered in blood or tears?" When a human baby is born, he/she is in fact bloody, bruised, and is crying.

"She’s either extremely multitalented or you didn’t edit all that well." Cleaning AND singing seems well within the abilities of any healthy human adult.

"You talk about this unknown she, and you have intent for who/what she is." The very last line reveals explicitly who/what "She" is.

I often wondered what you'd say to a poem like "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock". Who is he? Where is he going? The reader is in the dark.

Or, you often berate "information dumps" in prose. What would you say to an Edgar Allen Poe story where he goes into lots of detail about everything without really carrying the "action" forward. "The Fall of the House of Usher" is a good example. The narrator goes into a house, which collapses for no reason. I don't think you appreciate literary fiction or poetry. Maybe action-packed pulp is your thing, but don't use those formulas to critique literary fiction or poetry. Why discourage people with comments that are based on superficial reading? I recommend "Introduction to Poetry" by Billy Collins to get some ideas on how to read poems.

[JayG]

• When a human baby is born, he/she is in fact bloody, bruised, and is crying.

Naaa. First, the baby will be covered with amniotic fluid, and vernix. Blood, to an extent, may color the fluid, but they are NOT “bloody.” And there MAY be bruises, especially if forceps are used, but tears? Did you do any research? Newborn babies do NOT have the capability to produce tears when they cry.

• I often wondered what you'd say to a poem like "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Such hubris, to equate your work with Elliot’s, as if intent and accomplish were interchangeable words. But that aside, Elliot’s audience caught a great many of his cultural references. Today, it’s mostly famous for having been famous, and today's reader is missing many of the cultural references, like oyster-shells and sawdust on the floor.

But…playing the “what about,” game is irrelevant to the subject, and what I said about this piece. It stands or falls on its merit, not its designated predecessors. In this piece, you refer to an unknown she, who does impossible things for unknown reasons; who comes and goes for no known cause. Is it unreasonable for the reader to miss your referencew when you supply no context?

When you say,” She was a gypsy caravan all on Her own,” how does her being a horse-drawn wagon relate to a specific color hair that’s used as a clean-up rag? You do know that a “gypsy caravan” refers to the wagon, not a chain of them in motion, I hope.

When you say, “Before I came into this world, She was,” you could be referring to the deity of a female-centric religion, a ship, or pretty much anything. And you never clarify.

• I don't think you appreciate literary fiction or poetry.

I didn’t critique the content or genre. I spoke about errors in logic, and the fact that the story in your head never made it to the page. That has nothing to do with like or dislike, just editing.