March Slice of Life No. 9 * Poetry Friday.
During the month of February I participated in Laura Shovan’s 6th Annual February Poetry Project. On Day 11, Linda Baie provided a pencil drawing as our prompt. Linda received the pencil drawing, “Monday” by L. D. Wight, from her grandfather who had received it from one of his teachers at an art school he briefly attend before he had to return to the family farm while his brother served in WWI.
As I studied the drawing, it drew me in, and I heard it whisper a story.
This is the story I heard.
In the Sycamore’s Shadow
A sycamore on the west side was
struck by lightning the night I was born.
Most branches are gone now,
just a hollow trunk, no leaves,
no nests, no squirrels.
Not even the woodpeckers come.
Poor house never seen a blister
of paint. Roof’s peeled back
like the lid of a tin can, like
the ones scattered in our front yard.
No rocker on the porch.
No pansies this year in the old tire.
It’s Monday and I
been doing the laundry down by the creek.
Boiled some water over an open fire.
Softened a chunk of lye soap we made
from ashes and lard last spring.
First whites, then coloreds, and overalls last.
Swished it with my stirring stick,
scrubbed some on our washboard,
rinsed it all with creek water,
and wrung it out by hand
to spread over bushes to dry.
No clothesline behind that house.
Sun’s setting now.
Day’s been scorching hot,
so, naturally, everything’s dry.
Gathering it up now;
folding it into our
willow wicker basket.
There’s no smell of supper.
Ma’s standing on the porch;
Jethro’s leaning in close so
their voices are hushed like
whispering leaves in a
parched summer breeze.
Ma speaks slowly, makes me stumble.
Jethro steadies me with his
hand on our willow wicker basket.
I feel a chill in the shadow of the
sycamore on the west side,
struck by lightning the night I was born.
© 2018 Alice Nine
Illustration: “Monday,” a pencil drawing by L.D. Wight (used with permission)
Writing about my writing.
I studied the tree — hollow, missing most of its branches — and wondered what had happened to it. Perhaps it had been struck by lightning or destroyed by some blight or insect.
* * * * *
I wondered what kind of tree it was. The smoothness of it made me think of a sycamore. I envisioned it as it must have been at one time — a majestic old tree, like this one I’d taken a picture on a road trip a couple years ago.
* * * * *
I studied the house and was reminded of a place I knew about in North Carolina.
My folks had lived in a rural community when I was just a baby. They had rented a small house outside of town. My brothers and I loved my mom’s stories about them living in that house. One of my favorite ones was about the time she found a snake in the hallway. She’d told us about how she did laundry, outside in a tub with a rubbing board. She’d told us about hog killing time.
When I was in sixth grade, while we were heading back to New Jersey after a family vacation on the Outer Banks, my folks decided to detour off the main highway and see if they could find the place where they’d once lived. They found it.
My brothers and I were speechless.
Curtains hung crookedly on the windows. It had never been painted. As my mom put it, “There wasn’t even a blister of paint on it.” The yard area was dirt. Pigs were under the house. My mom’s comment to that, “We never had pigs under it when we lived there.”
(This is not the actual house, but it was much like this.)
* * * * *
I thought about Monday being wash day. I jotted down images, descriptive phrases of things I remembered doing, stories I’d heard as a girl, things I’d read. Here’s a look at that paper.
* * * * *
I studied the people in the drawing. How were they related? Were they from the same family? What were they doing? Were they sharing some small talk or was it a serious discourse?
* * * * *
With these thoughts and questions stirring, mixing with my memories and the drawing, I put pencil to paper and the poem wrote itself. It answered my questions and more, and then like a good story, it left me with a new lingering question.
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Poetry Friday Schedule
January – June 2018
What a story! Thanks for the process notes…I always love a peek under the hood!!
You’ve got it all here, Alice. From top to bottom, a most fulfilling read.
Thanks, Donna! 🙂
The lines “Poor house never seen a blister/of paint…” jumped out at me as I read your poem; imagine my delight when I read your process and realized those were words your mother had said. I loved the vivid imagery of the poem, and I was equally thrilled with your “writing about my writing” section. Such a privilege to take a peek behind the scenes.
I’m so glad you came by and enjoyed it. 🙂
Alice, first of all these lines jumped out at me:
their voices are hushed like
whispering leaves in a
parched summer breeze.
Secondly, your backstory was fascinating and provided a window into the poem.
Thirdly, my once beautiful tree in front of my house has been depleted of its grandeur. The nor’easter took down many of its limbs at different times this winter.
Carol, I’m so sorry to hear about your tree. I am glad that you are safe, though. We had some very large furs taken down on our property this fall because they were a hazard in high wind. We have rested much better at night knowing they are not whipping around in high winds this winter,
I liked hearing about your memories and process. Reminds me of living in NC or visiting my stepmother’s family in WV.
Great memories. Well, the ones I choose to remember are.
That is the best attitude. 🙂
It was fascinating to read about behind the scenes of your poem – the inspiration, the thinking, the learning, the studying, the notes, and the memories.
Thanks so much, Terje!
Great poem, Alice! It was fascinating to hear about your process and how your imagination mixed and mingled with your own memories. Your mother’s comment, “We never had pigs under it when we lived there” made me laugh!
Haha! She was a city girl and that was inmportant. Funny thing though, people there may have thought they were poor because they didn’t have any hogs.
LOL. How ironic!
Beautiful post, Alice. I love that you used my picture, but even more I love your own family memories and connections that added to your poem’s beauty. It has such a strong voice!
Thank you, Linda. That drawing has so much possibility.
I think it is amazing the different stories people see when they look at a picture. Your story is rich in detail. The journey any writer takes to get to a finished piece is always so interesting. I think it not only gives us a glimpse into that writer’s process but also tells a bit about the writer as well.
I always enjoy learning about the process and the writer, too.
I love this ekphrastic poem- you brought such life to this piece of art. Brilliant.
Thanks, Paula!
Yes, it’s lovely and the drawing is very thought-provoking. Thanks for sharing how the poem came to be through your past and the thoughts that ran through your head!
Thanks for reading and sharing!
I love this, Alice. I especially appreciate how you graciously give us the insights into your process. So many rich words and vivid scenes in this one!
I so glad you enjoyed it, Kiesha.
You have quickly become my favorite blogger. I love your focus this year. You amazing poem would have been enough but the vivid schooling about inspiration and technique make us all richer. Thank you.
Ah, thanks! I think “Writing about my writing” is the teacher in me.
While I loved your poem, I really loved reading the background story of the poem’s construction (I am always a sucker for that). Writing about writing is powerful, for the writer and the reader.
When I first saw the sketch, what came to my mind was the movie Mudbound.
Kevin
I always enjoy reading the backstory. Mudbound and the drawing would be a good pairing.
This is a very rich and deep Slice. It must have taken hours to put together. I am finding I need to be less ambitious in my scope, or give over my life to the March Challenge!
Thank you, Barbara. Actually, I wrote the poem as part of a Feb. poetry challenge, and I kept notes as I wrote it thinking I might “Writing about my writing” sometime. For today’s March slice, I used those notes and composed the “Writing about my writing” section.