Sunday, March 22, 2009

The Mansion of Happiness

Here's a poem from another fine first book, THE MANSION OF HAPPINESS by Robin Ekiss, coming soon from the University of Georgia Pres.


The question of my mother is on the table.
The dark box of her mind is also there,
the garden of everywhere
we used to walk together.

Among the things the body doesn't know,
it is the dark box I return to most:
fallopian city engrained in memory,
ghost-orchid egg in the arboretum,

hinged lid forever bending back and forth --
open to me, then closed
like the petals of the paper white narcissus.
What would it take to make a city in me?

Dark arterial streets, neglected ovary
hard as an acorn hidden in its dark box
on the table: Mother, I am
out of my mind, spilling everywhere.


Paul Lisicky said...

This is just brilliant, especially the move in that third stanza.

shoppista said...

Beautiful -- I love the last two lines.

Sheila said...

It's a terrible hole mothers tear in the fabric of our lives when they finally leave us. You wonder how they could do it to us. I suppose that's one of the questions on the table.

Unknown said...

I love Robin Ekiss. Hers is a book I've been waiting a long time for.