SAINT JULIAN PRESS
Anne McCrary Sullivan ~ Poet
My Mother, Learning
i
She brought home leaves and stems,
pressed them between newspapers.
At night she took them out
spread them at the edges of the living room,
walked the circuit again and again, naming.
I lay in the dark, listened to her Latin chant.
ii
This is the book she took with her in the boat.
I turn the pages slowly, some wrinkled
from humidity, look at tinted plates
like watercolors fading--
anemones, sponges, crustacea, bivalves,
creatures in tubes under the mudflats--
images hidden in pages with long lists
of names. One by one she learned them.
iii
When the mosquitoes that did not bite
but ate larvae of the ones that did,
would not breed in the laboratory,
she brought them home, hung damp rags
from the ceiling of her bedroom,
turned them loose. For weeks, great care
not to leave the bedroom door open.
iv
Before she could afford to go to college
she stood in the factory ironing neckties
one after another, conjugating French verbs.
v
I am learning waterways, teaching my paddle
how to go without a chart. I rehearse the sequence
of channels and bays—Crooked Creek, Sunday Bay,
Oyster Bay, Alligator Bay…. Where all the mangroves
look the same, I stare until I see their difference.
One day, turning from Roberts River into
the cutoff, my arms are suddenly not mine.
I watch and feel my mother’s arms, young and strong,
make every confident stroke, complete the turn.
i
She brought home leaves and stems,
pressed them between newspapers.
At night she took them out
spread them at the edges of the living room,
walked the circuit again and again, naming.
I lay in the dark, listened to her Latin chant.
ii
This is the book she took with her in the boat.
I turn the pages slowly, some wrinkled
from humidity, look at tinted plates
like watercolors fading--
anemones, sponges, crustacea, bivalves,
creatures in tubes under the mudflats--
images hidden in pages with long lists
of names. One by one she learned them.
iii
When the mosquitoes that did not bite
but ate larvae of the ones that did,
would not breed in the laboratory,
she brought them home, hung damp rags
from the ceiling of her bedroom,
turned them loose. For weeks, great care
not to leave the bedroom door open.
iv
Before she could afford to go to college
she stood in the factory ironing neckties
one after another, conjugating French verbs.
v
I am learning waterways, teaching my paddle
how to go without a chart. I rehearse the sequence
of channels and bays—Crooked Creek, Sunday Bay,
Oyster Bay, Alligator Bay…. Where all the mangroves
look the same, I stare until I see their difference.
One day, turning from Roberts River into
the cutoff, my arms are suddenly not mine.
I watch and feel my mother’s arms, young and strong,
make every confident stroke, complete the turn.
POET'S PAGE
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Paperback: $18.00
Publisher: Saint Julian Press, Inc. Language: English Paperback: 102 pages ISBN-13: 978-1955194143 For an advance copy, contact: Ron Starbuck or Anne McCrary Sullivan. |
Available Through ~ Ingram Content Group ~ Amazon ~ Barnes & Noble ~ IndieBound ~ Fine Book Distributors & Retailers
Saint Julian Press, Inc. * Houston, TX 77008 * Ron Starbuck ~ Publisher-CEO
Email: ronstarbuck@saintjulianpress.com * Web: www.saintjulianpress.com
Saint Julian Press, Inc. * Houston, TX 77008 * Ron Starbuck ~ Publisher-CEO
Email: ronstarbuck@saintjulianpress.com * Web: www.saintjulianpress.com
SAINT JULIAN PRESS, INC. © 2022
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As an Amazon Associate — Saint Julian Press, Inc. may earn funds from any qualifying purchases.
This arrangement does help to sustain the press and allow us to publish more books by more authors.