"Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn." ~Thomas Gray

"Poetry unites." ~Anon

"Truth is such a rare thing, it is delightful to tell it." ~Emily Dickinson


Written by Jude Goodwin
She lives in Squamish, British Columbia, Canada
Her website: Jude Goodwin

Originally published in the Comstock Review, Spring/Summer 2005.

One grunt

This is my floor,
I'm down on it
cheek flattened, hands
on the wood. Its yellow grain
spreads away from me like wheat,
like all these things:
tumbleweed, dog hair,
the sodbuster’s son upon me
(one grunt for every nail);
the underside
of a long oak table at dinnertime;
my father with a bottle of fine whiskey
hiding in his pant leg;
and always the boys
kicking each other. Tonight
there'll be pieces of dinnerware on the floor
and chairs knocked back
and bellyaching
(quit yer bellyaching).
I never liked sex
on the floor, the convenience
of it and the acres
of accessibility, and it's so
cinematic - like the family supper,
everyone buffed and glowing,
the kitchen hardwood
oiled and ready.
If only those boys
could just settle down,
maybe the old man
would leave them alone.

Posted with consent from the writer.

5 Comments:

  1. K.Lawson Gilbert said...
    Attention grabbing from the title... very unusual poem - in the very best sense of the word. I like poems that fascinate by subject alone. Remarkable how you develope this, how the images unfolds so distinctively. Wonderful!
    WHY? said...
    Oh my, what a difficult subject to write about. I hope this is a work of fiction, I really do. The last line gave me goosebumps-

    "If only those boys
    could just settle down,
    maybe the old man
    would leave them alone."
    Femin Susan said...
    You have got a poetic heart. You have used such magnificent words and this poem is very unusual.
    Cheers!
    RachelW said...
    This is such compelling writing. I so appreciate poems that draw me into their world. Beautifully done!
    Anonymous said...
    Thank you for your kind comments

    Jude Goodwin

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