Poetry

I am not a poet. In fact, I don't even like most poetry. But I'm taking a class and we're studying some poetry. For one of our assignments, we had to take a poem and then rewrite a reversal of the peom. I thought I'd post it for fun! It's not great, but hopefully you'll enjoy it.

The first poem is the actual poem. The second one is mine.

Morning Song
by Sylvia Plath

Love set you going like a fat gold watch.
The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements.

Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue.
In a drafty museum, your nakedness
Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.

I’m no more your mother
Than the cloud that distils a mirror to reflect its own slow
Effacement at the wind’s hand.

All night your moth-breath
Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen:
A far sea moves in my ear.

One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral
In my Victorian nightgown.
Your mouth opens clean as a cat’s. The window square

Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try
Your handful of notes;
The clear vowels rise like balloons.



Evening Song
by Rachel Rager

Life set you slowing like a car nearing a stop light.
I held your hand, and your soft sigh
Took its place among the elements.

Our sad smiles, understanding the end. Seasoned statue.
In our warm home, your love
Embraces our safety. We sit round content in each other’s company. Rocks.

I have been your companion
Through the trials, standing stalwart in the face of hardship,
Knowing this probationary state would not last.

All night your rattling breath
Crackles among the dull wilting roses. I sit listening:
A tear roles down my cheek.

One sigh, and I lean forward in my chair, slumped and shaking
In my Victorian nightgown.
Your chest stills like the dam stops the river.

My howl echoes through the room in the dark. And now I try
To wake you. You will not wake.
I kiss your cold lips and dissolve into tears.