Cathy A. E. Bell

Personal Essays and Poems by Cathy A. E. Bell

Category: Poetry

My Mother in a Song

 

My poem “My Mother in a Song” was published at http://run-to-the-roundhouse-nellie.com/readers-house/ this month, so I wanted to post it here as well. The prompt was MOM.

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My Mother in a Song

She is the orchard
and the peaches that come later in a jar.
She is the music playing from the radio, filling the car.

“Seasons in the Sun”
“Hooked on a Feeling”
“Sunshine on My Shoulders”
“Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree”

She is a clean house,
the smell of Windex and the clear pane of a window.
She is the music dancing from the cabinet stereo.

“You Make Me Feel Brand New”
“Shining Star”
“I Can See Clearly Now”
“You Are the Sunshine of My Life”

She is also the black, chilly night
an absence of light, a void without stars.
She is the music blaring out from the bars.

“Dark Lady”
“One of These Nights”
“Drift Away”
“The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia”

And she is the gap in the baby book,
the blank pages after age four (where writing should have been).
She is the music whispering from the record’s spin.

“When Will I See You Again?”
“Day by Day”
“Song Sung Blue”
“If You Love Me (Let Me Know)”

Still,
She is blanket laid out by the mountain stream,
roasted marshmallows, fried chicken,
bologna sandwiches—the goodness that picnics bring.
She is the song the artist loves to sing.

“The Best of My Love”
“Rocky Mountain High”
“Jackie Blue”
“How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)”

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In Honor of Migraine Awareness Month, a poem.

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When Light Pierces Through My Eyes Like Angry Tendrils

I am a vampire hiding
Hiding from sunlight,
Florescent light, light
Reflected on shiny things.
Even the little blue numbers
On the cable box display
Far across the room,
These are the things that hurt,
Seeking parts of my brain
I’d otherwise not know.

Scents coming through the air
Assault my brain like poison.
We afflicted cry out when
tiny molecules enter the nose:
Pumping gasoline
A woman who wears too much perfume
Car exhaust as the traffic light changes
(Please hurry)
Beautiful, beautiful lilies
Yeast in baking bread
And especially burning popcorn
Scorching in the microwave at work.
Ding.
These are the things that hurt.

Sirens screeching
Hail hitting the roof
Clank of a dish set in the metal
Kitchen sink, dryer buzzer buzzing
Children laughing, crying, singing
Sharp, biting barks (I love my dog, I do.)
Always the ticking clock
hanging on the bedroom wall.
Another tick. Another tock.
These are things that hurt.
These are the things that hurt me.

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