POeT SHOTS is a monthly series published on the first Monday of the month. It features work by established writers followed by commentary and insight by The Mad Blogger, a mysterious figure who is in love with poetry and the power of the written word.
Daystar
by Rita Dove
She wanted a little room for thinking;
but she saw diapers steaming on the line,
a doll slumped behind the door.
So she lugged a chair behind the garage
to sit out the children’s naps.
Sometimes there were things to watch –
the pinched armor of a vanished cricket,
a floating maple leaf. Other days
she stared until she was assured
when she closed her eyes
she’d see only her own vivid blood.
She had an hour, at best, before Liza appeared
pouting from the top of the stairs.
And just what was mother doing
out back with the field mice? Why,
building a palace. Later
that night when Thomas rolled over and
lurched into her, she would open her eyes
and think of the place that was hers
for an hour – where
she was nothing,
pure nothing, in the middle of the day.
Peace: it is something we all want.
The character in Rita Dove’s poem seeks nothing more than peace, a touch of peace amidst a life of responsibility and disappointment. To her, peace comes in the form of those quiet moments squeezed in between the structures in her life, the needs of her husband and children. She sits watching the “crickets,” or simply staring, enjoying the emptiness of the moment. But it is always a time with an expiration date. Within an hour, others dictate when her peace ends, and her day continues.
It’s funny to think about doing nothing as an art, but that is exactly what it is. We are so conditioned with the necessity of doing things that when we are faced with nothing to do, we don’t know what to do. If you’re anything like this blogger, you spend the time thinking about what you’ll do when the break is over. It’s a world we have created, but it is one that is mentally unsustainable.
I’m sure the character in the poem would feel the same, only for her it is amplified by lack of opportunity. The very things that bring joy to so many - marriage, children - are sucking the life out of this woman. Whatever dreams she had, whatever she wanted to do with her life, are relegated to the “palace” that she creates in her mind as she sits in her yard. Were this character alive today, some would tell her that she should practice self-care, but we forget that self-care is in itself a privilege, one that not everyone is able to enjoy.
What things trap us? What things create the boundaries of our lives? If we are honest, and if we are brave enough to think about these things, the answers may surprise us.
The Mad Blogger is dedicated to showing that poetry is not some mystery. There are no right or wrong ways to read poetry; it is for everyone to read, understand and enjoy. The Mad Blogger is all of us and none of us. As long as people still believe in the power of the written word, The Mad Blogger will be there, providing insight, perspective, and (hopefully) inspiration.