Literary Mama writing about the many faces of motherhood
Signature

No comments

In the seconds my back is turned
Eleanor clambers up to the desk,
pencil and book of poems just received
from a friend glowing bright. In a blink
she stakes her claim in parabolas
on the flyleaf as if she had waited all
of her two-and-a-half years for this chance
at skywriting, lines drawn in the sand,
uncipherable field she will one day
thumb through, bold ellipses
traced cradle to moment when
flesh becomes word.

I could say ruination, page scarred,
erasure a blight. But over my shoulder,
her future scrawls foxed and dogeared—
scribble of Seuss in the rain, on a train,
Little Prince at the baobabs, Antonia's sod
house on the red-tipped plain. Her hands
won't  stay dimpled, unlettered, schooled
to the margins, the ruler, the rule.
For now, let fingers wing apple to cocoon,
x-ray to zebra, her delight a caw
quick as mockingbird's scold.


Linda Parsons Marion is an editor at the University of Tennessee. She served as poetry editor of Now & Then magazine for many years, and her work has appeared in such journals as The Georgia Review, Iowa Review, Prairie Schooner, Southern Poetry Review, and Shenandoah. Her fourth poetry collection, This Shaky Earth, is forthcoming from Texas Review Press. Her new play, Macbeth Is the New Black, co-written with Jayne Morgan, will be produced at Western Carolina University in early 2016. Marion writes often of her granddaughters, Eleanor and Vivian, who live down the street and are always ready to dance her cares away.


More from



Comments are now closed for this piece.