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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