By Martha Rhodes
From the beginning, that was
Only my beginning— I don’t presume
it was anyone else’s—I was difficult. No one
came forward to nurse or clean me. Ashamed
to look away, they could not look at
for I was, if not horned and befouled,
repugnant, reminding them of the ever
suppressed Collective Nightmare.
Even in their most naked moments, barely
awake, before coffee and eggs, dawn just
beginning to melt the crust at their eyes,
they heard my squalls and pretended
I was yet to arrive into their lives. I was
still just a swelling for those few moments,
a happy promise. From the beginning,
I was demanding, and insatiable. I ate
through carpet, pearls, quilts, and pets.
I demolished bank accounts and shat out
snake heads. I was –I remember—a beast.
un-soft, rancid, my milk teeth pointing
in all directions. I was at home in their root cellar,
hay loft, dung pile, pig slop bucket. Called Scare Crow,
Gaseous Fungal Spread. I am not self-loathing, here.
I do not ask to be convinced otherwise. My sisters
knew I belonged townships away –at the Lodge!
Send It to the Lodge, they’d pray through their sheets.
But I’d made that impossible, having snuck through the portal
to smear my waste on those walls and across the sleeping foreheads
of its occupants. My signature. You see, I wanted to stay
with my family, my loved ones. And yet, I was difficult.
If only it wasn’t so difficult to smother a difficulty,
I’d hear through my crib’s sheets. Night after night, I tried
to make it easy for them, rising up again and again
to meet the pillow held above my head.
Originally published in Prairie Schooner
The Importance of Arts, Culture & The Creative Process
I am healthiest when I write -- it's as simple as that. I am proud to be a poet, teacher, editor, and publisher. I feel it is a noble enterprise, and I can bring good to the world by creating and ushering creative work into the world, whether it is my own work or that of others. The arts are an expression of the our unique sensibilities -- our external and internal self-scapes. The arts bring us news of the world, both the subjective and objective worlds of the arttists.
What was the inspiration for your creative work?
A spark, a syllable and I was off and running with it...
Tell us something about the natural world that you love and don’t wish to lose. What are your thoughts on the kind of world we are leaving for the next generation?
Water water water water. My thoughts on the kind of world we are leaving for the next generation(sssss)? Worry. Fear. And hope. Without hope, there is no reason to continue. Hope for a liveable, kind world.
