Sing, Unburied, Sing

by Jesmyn Ward

“Bird,” she says.

“Let me help.” “Too late,” Mama says. “Too late, Leonie.”

Haha - sad

Smile metaphor

A poem ensues….

I’m too late.

Given

In life, there was a joke in every line of him, humor that ran along the bones of him,

Pop spent hours dipping a broom in paint and then stabbing the ceiling with the bristles, making circles and loops and swirls, shaping the paint into stars and comets.

“Come with me, Mama,” he says. “Come on.”

Simile extended

“Say it,” Mama says.

Given stands, thrashing against some invisible thing that holds him there.

Do I say the words?

Jojo

Jojo gets rid of. Richie.

Maman Brigitte,

“No, Leonie,” says Jojo. “You don’t know.”

Don’t know what? Question

“You don’t see.”

Don’t see what?

He looks up at where the boy flashed.

He raises a hand to Given, and it is as if Jojo has unlocked and opened a gate, because Given pushes through whatever held him.

Pop

Simile

searching the yard and woods for pens and bins and machines to fix so he can repair in the face of what he cannot.

“Uncle.”

“Nephew,”

“I come with the boat, Mama,”

Simile extended

Simile metaphor

Simile metaphor extended

He doesn’t understand what it means, to have the first thing you ever done right by your mama be to usher in her gods. To let her go.

“She did, Jojo.” Pop’s voice is the only thing about him with some hardness to it: a sheathed knife.

“It was a mercy, son,” Pop says.

She’s lost the opportunity to build trust which him. Now everything she does is under suspicion, and with good reason. Even the good acts wil not be trusted. Sad. But the fact that she did the right thing is a sign of redemption or at least turning in the right direction. Nite that Jojo did the right thing by Richie, both in asking Papa how Richie died, and in stopping him from taking Mam: ‘“Go,” Jojo says. He looks up at where the boy flashed. “Ain’t no more stories for you here. Nobody owe you nothing here.” He raises a hand to Given, and it is as if Jojo has unlocked and opened a gate, because Given pushes through whatever held him.’ p. 268

There is a rope of fire from my eyes, behind my nose, down my throat, and it coils in a noose in my stomach.

“ ’Cause I ain’t. I did what she needed me,” I say.

ain’t sorry

I want to slap her awake, for asking me to let her go.

Haha sad. But she’s still selfish, it’s all about her.

“Nothing,” Jojo says. “You can’t give me nothing.”

he’s hard as Pop and soft as Mama. Censure and pity. I’m a book and he can read every word.

Simile metaphor

I am raging, hateful at this world,

Jojo’s straight, straight as Pop,

all the little boy gone from his eyes: the tide gone out, the sun scorching the residue of water away,

leaving hot sand baking t...

Simile

“You don’t know,” I say. “You don’t!”

I want so much.

Meme me - could she try any harder to be unsympathetic? Question

I want to hit him again and I want to hold him to me and palm his head again like wh...

Yet Ward insists on a measure, however small, of sympathy. What about empathy? Question

Cold at the heart, time worming its way through her hardening veins.

an endless well.