When grandfather was alive
he took me to that tree
& picked me an apple & told me about family,
i.e., mothers tied to mothers tied to mothers;
now I am the only daughter.
Grandfather told me about my birth:
my mother cried until her face turned transparent
like the thinned out wine that my father
drinks at dinners, the wine my mother tries
to ignore: she’s terrified of her ancestors, all
drunk like barrels of young boys. I had three
sisters & they all left home now: an ocean,
a train, a burst of lightning
flying through the sky.
One day I will learn how to sing the way
the women at the local church do.
I still stand outside the open stained glass window
with my eyes closed & pretend that I can feel
the pews pressing against my body
like a nervous man's hands.
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125,025 Literary Works • 672,766 Reviews
Hello! I loved your poem, it reminds me of Sylvia Plath's works to be honest. I don't often see poems like this so it's wonderful that you wrote it (on a personal side note it's also something that had been looming over my head for a while). Simple, yet abstract. My personal interpretation? Growing up to witness as well as navigate what many people call 'womenhood'.
"When grandfather was alive
he took me to that tree
& picked me an apple & told me about family,
i.e., mothers tied to mothers tied to mothers;"
There is something hopelessly serene about this first part of the poem. Personally, this feels like a way to discuss more about generations and mothers and where we belong in that spectrum. Also like the contrast between apples and generations creates a very vivid imagery. A subtle detail I see here is that you wrote 'that tree' almost as if you're specifying only one tree (or perhaps I'm over analysing).
"now I am the only daughter.
Grandfather told me about my birth:
my mother cried until her face turned transparent
like the thinned out wine that my father
drinks at dinners, the wine my mother tries
to ignore: she’s terrified of her ancestors, all"
This is outstanding writing, I have nothing to complain or criticise. The double standards described through detailed descriptions and the contrast between something as painful as childbirth and wine is extremely interesting (yet again it's a personal interpretation). I love the way you smoothly transitioned from your (as in the speaker) birth to the wine that her father drinks.
"drunk like barrels of young boys. I had three
sisters & they all left home now: an ocean,
a train, a burst of lightning
flying through the sky."
This doesn't just sound like you describing sisters but also wondering what or which one you would end up being. Maybe the ocean— vast, mostly calm but sometimes a danger, a disaster even. Or perhaps the rushing train, unable to settle, or the burst of lightning— sudden but with a lot of pent of rage and sorrow underneath. But perhaps you'll end up being something entirely different. Again I love the striking difference in each one.
"One day I will learn how to sing the way
the women at the local church do.
I still stand outside the open stained glass window
with my eyes closed & pretend that I can feel
the pews pressing against my body
like a nervous man's hands."
That is quite a way to end a poem, with wonder and unsettled conclusions.
I'm impressed, keep writing!
This poem is almost hopeful. It speaks of the future and the past, which is a really good combination. I love the imagery and metaphors. The imagery is very good, it really puts me into the poem.
I mean, I loved each of your poems this April, but I especially enjoy when you play around with generational imagery. inheritance tends to have blessings and burdens, and I love how this poem plays around with both sides.
I'd like to imagine the tree in question is some kind of Edenic image? the fruit represents your origin, your ancestry, but it is also tied to your inevitable fall - the line about "mothers tied to mothers tied to mothers” is beautiful to me too, since it reframes lineage as matrifocal. these women are connected, but they are also “tied,” which suggests some kind of obligation / fate destined to them, even captivity. I also think that's really neat with the later reference to your three sisters and somehow remaining the only daughter inhabiting the family -> there's so much loss and grief tied into that one idea.
also, I thought the alcohol motif is also really fresh and fitting for the narrative with the father and the wine; it takes a domestic moment that COULD be normal (drinking wine with dinner) and places it into a genealogical line of addiction and turmoil ("drunk like barrels of young boys"). I like how you've written your ancestors as juvenile instead of the traditional wise, older sage figure. I also think it complements the religious imagery in the last stanza, even if unintentional.
honestly, I think the religious imagery at the end does drag the poem out a bit though? it's gorgeous on its own, but I don't know how it pairs with the earlier ideas in a cohesive way. the poem has a layer of bodily fear / obvious gendered discomfort, but I think the rush into "nervous man's hands" overstates something that could've been integrated slowly over the poem - sensual imagery definitely works, but it felt jarring right at the ending like that. you build up this almost archaic, mythic story about family and inheritance, but then... the narrator gets pulled out of any chance at self-actualization.
the Deleuze title, too, rocks. what's he doing here?
<3
nice Deleuze mention, nerd