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The Beast and The Innocent
In this collection of persona poems, Diana Pinckney explores the art of others and regards the wolf as the ultimate other: “Wolves speak to me from beauty, strangeness and vulnerability, representing both the beast and the innocent. Their voice is the music of the wilderness.... As for the beasts and the innocents these poems speak of, this writer feels there are many that are sometimes two-sided—like the god, Janus—and hopes that they will be discovered by the eye and the ear of the reader.”
66 pages, Paperback
First published March 17, 2015
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
March 14, 2018
We are the publisher, so all of our authors get five stars from us. Excerpts:
BEHIND THE KITCHEN DOOR
is where the Devil beats his wife
when sunshine strikes through rain.
Rosa said so. I sat twisting
pigtails she’d plaited, listening
to stories of a daughter my age.
She called her my twin
while I doodled with grits she served
from the black stove. Anytime
a beam flashed on wet windowpanes,
I hopped from stool to kitchen door
to catch Satan in mid-blow,
sure that Rosa would protect me.
Six states and years away
I held a crying baby girl
and listened to my mother keen
across the miles. Rosa’s girl,
she said, dead. My darker sister,
shot in Rosa’s yard,
flung like a doll on the front stoop,
Rosa rushing out,
the young man yelling, See what I done
to your baby? In court,
when sentenced, he turned, swore
to come back and do the same
to Rosa. To Rosa, Rosa
who knew what waits
behind a door, knew what falls
is not always rain.
FALLEN GARDENS
April leaves its glory to the warmth
and whims of May, another dry summer
in the forecast. Doesn’t the end of any month
ache to return to beginnings—tender
green opening to white, white to green,
even though the stunning fullness
of a branch bent with pale blossoms
is never enough to bring back a son.
No breeze can gentle the knowledge
that somewhere in old Babylon
a father pleads for Allah, for any god
to grant him Abraham’s deliverance.
Bereft of angels, his sky instead
carries a stinging wind circling the man
forced by soldiers to lower a gun
to the crown of his son’s head,
a young informer broken
to the ground at his father’s feet,
his forehead pressed in dust
that will rise and cover us all.
BEHIND THE KITCHEN DOOR
is where the Devil beats his wife
when sunshine strikes through rain.
Rosa said so. I sat twisting
pigtails she’d plaited, listening
to stories of a daughter my age.
She called her my twin
while I doodled with grits she served
from the black stove. Anytime
a beam flashed on wet windowpanes,
I hopped from stool to kitchen door
to catch Satan in mid-blow,
sure that Rosa would protect me.
Six states and years away
I held a crying baby girl
and listened to my mother keen
across the miles. Rosa’s girl,
she said, dead. My darker sister,
shot in Rosa’s yard,
flung like a doll on the front stoop,
Rosa rushing out,
the young man yelling, See what I done
to your baby? In court,
when sentenced, he turned, swore
to come back and do the same
to Rosa. To Rosa, Rosa
who knew what waits
behind a door, knew what falls
is not always rain.
FALLEN GARDENS
April leaves its glory to the warmth
and whims of May, another dry summer
in the forecast. Doesn’t the end of any month
ache to return to beginnings—tender
green opening to white, white to green,
even though the stunning fullness
of a branch bent with pale blossoms
is never enough to bring back a son.
No breeze can gentle the knowledge
that somewhere in old Babylon
a father pleads for Allah, for any god
to grant him Abraham’s deliverance.
Bereft of angels, his sky instead
carries a stinging wind circling the man
forced by soldiers to lower a gun
to the crown of his son’s head,
a young informer broken
to the ground at his father’s feet,
his forehead pressed in dust
that will rise and cover us all.
May 7, 2021
Interesting read.
I received this book for free through Goodreads Giveaways.
I received this book for free through Goodreads Giveaways.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews