![]() ![]() She marvels because “I am not that strong.” Because she can only wonder at how these women “stand the murderous fury.” Because, through it all, these women are “still singing.” Place has given them purpose, identity, and comfort, and it’s being gifted to her. In the coal muck for their blood-deep origin. They stand for the mountains they loved, rage Gallbladders full of black coal sludge, and still The women of Appalachia are watchingĮach home poisoned by bad air, deadly water, ![]() ![]() It’s in Kentucky, in the casual memories of, for example, “In a Mexican Restaurant I Recall How Much You Upset Me,” and in the love she has for her husband that speaker and poem find each other.ĭespite the isolation she often feels, the speaker discovers strength and connection within her new community. ![]() Reading Ada Limón’s Bright Dead Things brings to mind a particular bit of wisdom from Richard Hugo: “The poem is always in your hometown, but you have a better chance of finding it in another.” Though the book’s speaker is from Brooklyn, though she had a strained relationship with her stepmother, though she’s caught remembering her exes and fights with her husband over his, the poems resonate so deeply because of distance and time away from what was so familiar, so close. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |