Mother Stills the Crop and Halts the Tilling of the Land
Laura Da’
The restaurant no longer caries the artichoke dip
my mother favors and she worries she imagined it,
but I recollect the green edge and lemon rind bite.
Crossing into Swinomish territory the estuary
tideland is soft as suede work gloves. I shoo a dog
away from dahlia bulbs and gently chide. Frank
sunlight on the tulip fields where the deadheads
leave feathery rows of prismed saturation. A photo
on a roadside marker shows families posed
in their Sunday best on massive log stumps
holding braces of ducks. Could there be, perhaps,
some kind of decline? Turkey tail fungus on the trees
like sliced agate coasters. Sea gull, sea gull, sit on the sand.
It’s never good weather… I look and look for the bird
across the channel to La Conner. I follow her gaze
past the steaming brine of the mudbanks and crab traps,
to see what prompts her song. Run a coarse needle
through thick brown hemp to string a vine strut,
run a fine needle through the silk of a white wedding glove.
Run a sapphire needle through the groove of a record
mother loved to play and she may begin to sing.
Laura Da’ is a poet and teacher. A lifetime resident of the Pacific Northwest, Da’ studied creative writing at the University of Washington and the Institute of American Indian Arts. She is Eastern Shawnee. Her first book, Tributaries, was published by the University of Arizona Press and won a 2016 America Book Award. Da’ has held residencies at the Richard Hugo House, Tin House, and Jack Straw. Her newest book, Instruments of the True Measure, is the winner of the Washington State Book Award. Da’ lives near Seattle with her husband and son.
.
‹ |
Previous Desmond at Home, Athena Scott |
Next E. J. Koh in conversation with Diana Xin |
› |
