Two Poems


AN INVENTORY OF MOTHERS AT MOMMY & ME GYMNASTICS  

 

would exclude me but not out of meanness. I don’t  think they think that mother equals care, father  

absence, the kind, like smoke,  that you can smell. Or that there’s something   particularly unmasculine  

about kneeling down to cup  your child’s alembic neck   so it won’t snap as she rolls 

backwards down a foam ramp that seems  to have been made from a clown suit,   some poor red-nosed sap anonymous and glum 

in oversized boxers and hobo makeup juggling   crème pies in the cold of my mind  as a squad of three-year-olds safely tumbles.  

It’s about alliteration. A preference “for euphony more than truth” (Socrates to Hermogenes), for how “rhythmic patterns

confer a strange sense of wholeness and inevitability” (Louise Glück), and this compels us to condone or do or say things we 

otherwise would or shouldn’t. Think surf  and turf. Or puggles. Practice  makes perfect. Shock 

and awe. My god, what a whiff of assonance  will let you get away with.  A dab of mellifluity and let the stinger 

do its perforating dance  through any region it thinks needs aeration.  Because who doesn’t love  

a slogan coiled like a jack in the box?  A wallop on a loaded spring, a motto you can’t help   but mutter so its syllables can roll 

like buckshot in the cupped hand  of your mouth? I cup  my hand around her neck 

and she rolls backwards, spine   unsnapped, grin fizzing as she dashes  to the trampoline where she jumps, 

catching a little bit of air, floating  for a moment like a sound that means absolutely nothing 

except how it feels   to rise and fall  and falling, rise.

AMERICAN DREAM


Somehow the lists got switched so now when darkness trips the streetlamps in a single flick I stand on the porch and yell  for Operation Total Fury

while the radio announces new troop callups for Eloise.  Sometimes, once we’ve gotten her to sleep, we wonder on the couch between commercials if we shouldn’t

have named her Perfect Arrow, after my mother, or maybe Operation Ineluctable Flame — the year’s most popular name, yes, but as the wine  tightens its grip we concede it’s got 

a ring to it. The news anchors lather up  and rinse the war’s many wigs, highlighting momentarily important looks: Genevieve repelling insurgents in the north, Isabel stalled as storms

comb the bogs and forests of the west, and Penelope almost done  shoring up the eastern flank so it can rally with Bayleigh and Lakynn, and begin the critical pincer move needed

to relieve beleaguered Taylee. We find the names absurd. Nowhere near as mellifluous as Luminous Spear or Unrelenting Vengeance. Imagine, we say to each other, planting

a victory garden for Winifred instead of Scarlet Trident. Celebrating the smallest inch achieved by Megyn instead of Justice Fusillade. To ration every glittering teaspoon

of sugar and every phosphorous flare of empathy for Mackenzie so this meager plenitude might help us deceive ourselves that despite her hunger her damage will  somehow spare us too.  

Conor Bracken

Conor Bracken is the author of The Enemy of My Enemy is Me (Diode Editions, 2021), as well as the translator ofMohammed Khaïr-Eddine’s Scorpionic Sun (CSU Poetry Center, 2019) ad Jean D’Amérique's No Way in the Skin Without This Bloody Embrace (Ugly Duckling Presse, 2022). He teaches at the Cleveland Institute of Art.

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