Of Recognizable Women

My mother scrubs her life down to the knuckle
in a cone of light. It is far enough away
to call this light the past: my mother, turning

from the past to look over her shoulder
calls me by the name
only she can get away with using.

Like the nuns of childhood
with their secrets and forbidden sex, restraint
is always at her side, a goat pulled by a string.

It’s Saturday, the world
is an embarrassment of dishes
but she doesn’t light a cigarette

or anything like that. A bistro in Atlanta
on the night before my first performance,
Madeleine Klink’s mother shoves a glass

under her nose. She knows my mother
doesn’t drink. Just smell it,

she says. In 1998 I watch my gorgeous sisters
drag themselves through various degrees
of what we didn’t call disordered eating,

boys with feather pillow lips
all parted in their wake. I remember
being on that boat, waving from the hull

as a man whose jackets rhymed
took pictures of the girls. Everywhere you looked, a dolphin
carving arcs as dolphins do,

waves and waves of gulls, the kind of morning
people kill for. In the air, a crying sound
that never seemed to end.

(09-03-2026, 05:05 AM)matsunosuperfan Wrote:  Of Recognizable Women

My mother scrubs her life down to the knuckle
in a cone of light. It is far enough away
to call this light the past: my mother, turning

from the past to look over her shoulder  white space representing the time interval between then and now is effective
calls me by the name
only she can get away with using.  the mother is honored, in a way, but discomfort is implied.

Like the nuns of childhood
with their secrets and forbidden sex, restraint
is always at her side, a goat pulled by a string.  Interesting image.  Which represents restraint, the string or the goat?

It’s Saturday, the world
is an embarrassment of dishes
but she doesn’t light a cigarette  opening for imagination:  would she normally smoke, or did she never smoke?

or anything like that. A bistro in Atlanta  a sort of super-enjambment here:  a time jump at the period, or is the embarrassment of dishes at the bistro?
on the night before my first performance,  which is why the narrator remembers it - why does the Narrator remember the mother?
Madeleine Klink’s mother shoves a glass

under her nose. She knows my mother
doesn’t drink. Just smell it,  are we still at the bistro?  No... more like a separate. related recollection.

she says. In 1998 I watch my gorgeous sisters   definite time lapse at this period, so probably also at the others.
drag themselves through various degrees
of what we didn’t call disordered eating,  bulimia, anorexia, perhaps induced by trying to mimic Mom's self-discipline or her (smoker's?) slim figure

boys with feather pillow lips  took a minute, but now I remember - those soft little first-time mustaches
all parted in their wake. I remember  another time-slip period, easy to miss.  Meant to be missed?
being on that boat, waving from the hull  odd choice of location or terms - would expect "deck" or "promenade" or "railing."

as a man whose jackets rhymed  lovely evocation of what used car salesmen used to wear - "full Chicago"
took pictures of the girls. Everywhere you looked, a dolphin  slightly false note - was there only one dolphin?  could be clearer
carving arcs as dolphins do,

waves and waves of gulls, the kind of morning  gulls' waving wings above cresting waves - nice image
people kill for. In the air, a crying sound  oof.  A disquieting thought, if meant that way
that never seemed to end.  it might only be the gulls.  Might be.  Or that tribe or woman in the Bible, crying for her children who were no more.

In intensive critique, there are about four women mentioned (counting Mrs. Klink and assuming two sisters).  The reader can recognize mischievous Mrs. Klink, and the sisters (Cinderella's?) but mostly the Narrator's mother.  (I assumed at first that the N was male, but that's just me - on the whole, I think she's the third daughter, the performer.)  At any rate, it's also interesting that the majority of the poem is about setting sail from the port with the dolphins.  Could be symbolism in the photographer with his coat of many colors and the act of voyaging forth with Mom... no longer present?

The poem is, then, a stream of consciousness, and a pretty good one for (or despite) all the ambiguities noted.  Might have tripped at "Everywhere you looked," which slipped in as an unimportant cliche but could imply there is someone being addressed.  Mom?  Her ghost in its cone of light?  Better change the cliche unless you want readers to take that track.  Ambiguity has to stop somewhere.