Thursday, November 5, 2015

Recalling a Lullaby

My sons, 2003


The History of Mothers and Sons

All sons sleep next to mothers, then alone, then with others
Eventually, all our sons bare molars, incisors
Meanwhile, mothers are wingless things in a room of stairs
A gymnasium of bars and ropes, small arms hauling self over self

Mothers hum nonsense, driving here
and there (Here! There!) in hollow steeds, mothers reflecting
how faint reflections shiver over the road
All the deafening musts along the way

Mothers favor the moon—hook-hung and mirroring the sun—
there, in a berry bramble, calm as a stone

This is enough to wrench our hand out of his
and simply devour him, though he exceeds even the tallest grass

Every mother recalls a lullaby, and the elegy blowing through it

Lisa Furmanski


You can listen to it here.

9 comments:

  1. And grandmothers too, it would seem.
    Gorgeous poem.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I remember this poem clearly from the first time you posted it. it has stayed with me since.

    ReplyDelete
  3. That picture is beyond adorable. It doesn't get much cuter than that. I bet it is one of your favourite pictures of your boys. :-)

    ReplyDelete
  4. Love the poem and your boys.

    Best,
    Bonnie

    ReplyDelete
  5. "Every mother recalls a lullaby, and the elegy blowing through it"

    ReplyDelete

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