a list of my mother's lovers; if we can't fix the world just try, try to make any one thing more beautiful; a revery on politics and justice
she told me, I had to wear a plaid skirt to elementary school and got sent home the day my growth spurt dangled my knees tantalizingly below the hem, whore girl, and I walked along the road knee socks not quite masking the female body that was made to torment men when I was fourteen, she said, I fell in love with a boy with sandy hair and an apologetic manner, glasses, the works we exchanged crumpled notes, sweet nothings in secret code and eventually, made out behind the pines, off the path winding from the cranberry bogs at sixteen, though, there was someone else, and she grew quiet, so childhood me dug out that old yearbook and there he is, smirking his sexual consciousness circled in a red pen accompanied by, Hey Barb, it was great getting to know you her parents slept in separate twin beds, and indulged in sin twice monthly, I imagine, and came down hard on her curls were immodest, boys were the devil and soon she had quit school and moved to boston as a bisexual loading dock worker she told me, my roommate was a night club dancer and I loved watching her move and we didn't have a refrigerator but we fought like we cared in those snow filled streets and when calvin came along everything changed he brought her to his Alabama family, black and didn't the world stare, she said he taught her to cook, and canoe, and they wanted to have a baby, but he was drafted, and years later came back, changed and she wanted a child and a home and somehow, she said, the long and winding found her way to me |
Writing, writingA blog of mostly poems, some prose. Recent works will be added to the top, and older pieces are backdated. Please write me a note if you have any questions, etc! Archives
October 2017
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All works are original and copyright Sarah Hirsch, 2017. Please contact me directly if you would like permission to use any images or words. Thank you!
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