mother arrives with a knife
cutting down the dead tree with swift blows-
pulling back dull curtains, bagging old
autumn leaves & winter bones with twisted bow
this is a season of hardiness as stubborn
bull, plunging into the open air with grit & breath
of a seasoned traveler, braving the rain & roller-
coaster wind, driving head first to sow seeds & spores
spring season arrives with false starts
much like a failing review of a premiere movie night-
or a disappointing first-look of famous landmark-
it is a short season as the cherry blossoms trees-
yet in every spring season, you marvel its art-
thick thistles of flowerets-
gnarly green fingers rising from mud-
red-veined leaves, delicate as old woman's hands-
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetics: Getting Hooked on Opening Lines, hosted by Kim Russell. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thank you.
The first line really shocks... and then all the imagery, the false starts, all the blooms, and the old woman's hands... great stuff
ReplyDeleteI love the incongruousness of the opening shock line compared with the title, which has me hooked, Grace. And then all becomes clear! I love the image you paint of spring cleaning: ‘pulling back dull curtains, bagging old / autumn leaves & winter bones with twisted bow’. I also like the simile: ‘spring season arrives with false starts / much like a failing review of a premiere movie night’, and the thought of those ‘red-veined leaves, delicate as old woman's hands’.
ReplyDeleteThis is exquisitely drawn, Grace! I especially admire this part; “this is a season of hardiness as stubborn bull, plunging into the open air.” ❤️❤️
ReplyDeleteThat first line was a hooker, Grace! I also enjoyed how you started with a mother holding a knife in her hands, and ending with old women's hands.
ReplyDeleteI like how your closing line counters your hook with gentleness.
ReplyDeletespot on the prompt, Grace, with a close that befits your name ~
ReplyDeleteThat first line...but it fits, it fits! And I feel the envy growing of such a life, toiling, yes, hard, down to the bone, but honest and true. Lovely start to the 2nd stanza too, which fits cause really liked this poem very much
ReplyDeleteso many images grab me by the throat, eliciting from me a strangulated smoky cry of recognition of all that letting go into the Beltane fires...:
ReplyDelete"pulling back dull curtains, bagging old
autumn leaves & winter bones with twisted bow' personifies 'mother' - variously - as Cailleach, neurotic housewife, OCD depressive, vigorous gardener, optimist, reviving May Queen...and... all the above.
Happy May Day, dear Grace, and thank you for your ferocious perspective on spring's ambiguity
Echoing every one else--that first line shocks, but what a wonderful poem, Grace. All those images of spring and its false starts. A perfect final line/image.
ReplyDeleteBeautifully done, Grace! I liked this line...
ReplyDelete...spring season arrives with false starts
and this one...
gnarly green fingers rising from mud-
red-veined leaves, delicate as old woman's hands-
The opening line shocks the senses and the rest is filled with the fierceness of nature and the season.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful
ReplyDeleteA vicious season, this short spring, vital and viral and freeing. You punched it through.
ReplyDeleteGreat tension starting with the terse opening, and a very fresh look at the drama and change spring brings, sometimes quite violently. I especially liked "thick thistles of flowerets- /
ReplyDeletegnarly green fingers rising from mud-/red-veined leaves, delicate as old woman's hands.."
OH the hook line is powerful ... one of your finest poems, ever!!!!! Thanks for reading mine.
ReplyDeleteexcellent hook ... and such an overall yummy poem. i loved it <3
ReplyDeleteAwesome poem, Grace!
ReplyDeleteYvette M Calleiro :-)
http://yvettemcalleiro.blogspot.com
I agree with others who said this is exquisite and one of your finest poems I've read! A definite hook of an opening, excellent imagery, and makes me want to read it over again.
ReplyDelete"mother arrives with a knife" then leaves us with the marveling at her, at nature's newness, "delicate as old woman's hands." How utterly lovely, Grace.
ReplyDelete