Laurie Uttich poem on domestic violence and support from women*

Laurie Uttich

TO MY STUDENT WITH THE DIME-SIZED BRUISES ON THE BACK OF HER ARMS WHO’S STILL ON HER CELLPHONE

Oh honey, you can text him, you can like his meme, you can 

follow him on Twitter and to Target, you can ride shotgun, hold 

his anger on your lap, pet his pride, be his ride or die. You can 

wear those jeans he likes. You can discover Victoria’s 

secret, buy a bra with a mind of its own. You can 

recite I’m sorry like it’s a Bible verse and Snapchat the shit out 

of those purple roses he bought you at Publix. You can try 

every one of Cosmo’s 30 Ways to Give an Ultimate Blowjob

You can remember the name of his mother, his best friend 

in 2nd grade, the lunchroom lady who gave him extra 

chicken strips on Tuesdays. You can grow out your bangs, toss 

your hometown over your shoulder, sleep facing north 

with your cheek in his back. 

You can strip yourself for parts.        But, baby, 

it still won’t be enough. You can love him, but you can’t pull 

his story out of the dark and slide your arms into it. You can’t 

wash it and lay it flat in the sun to soften. You can’t 

hold his face in both of your palms and watch tomorrow 

bloom from the sheer wanting and waiting of it. It doesn’t 

matter if his daddy talked with his hands        or his bloodline 

is marinated in booze        or his mama loved his brother best. 

You can’t fix what somebody else broke. 

So, girl, put down your phone and pick up 

your pen. Take a piece of the dark and put it on a page. 

Sylvia Plath waits to wash your feet. And look, 

Virginia Woolf has built you another room and painted 

it pink. There’s a place for you at the table. Sit next to me; 

I got here late.        Oh, baby, don’t you feel it? You were knit 

for wonder in your mother’s womb. 

You were born for the driver’s seat.

from Rattle #69, Fall 2020
Tribute to Service Workers

https://www.laurieuttich.com/ is the website of author Laurie Uttich. You can buy her poetry here: https://riotinyourthroat.com/product/somewhere-a-woman-lowers-the-hem-of-her-skirt-by-laurie-rachkus-uttich/

And follow her on instagram https://www.instagram.com/laurieuttich/

Another poem on rattle.com https://www.rattle.com/my-88-year-old-mother-in-law-decides-to-make-new-years-resolutions-by-laurie-uttich/

A mother’s yearning/love: “Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing…” Sylvia Plath #Valentines #poetryisjustawesome

Child by Sylvia Plath

Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new

Whose names you meditate —
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Little

Stalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classical

Not this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.

.

.

From: Poems on the Underground. Illlustrated edition. Edited by Judith Chernaik, Gerard Benson and Cicely Herbert.

 

New Year’s Poems. Happy 2015! 2/3

New Year on Dartmoor

This is newness: every little tawdry
Obstacle glass-wrapped and peculiar,
Glinting and clinking in a saint’s falsetto. Only you
Don’t know what to make of the sudden slippiness,
The blind, white, awful, inaccessible slant.
There’s no getting up it by the words you know.
No getting up by elephant or wheel or shoe.
We have only come to look. You are too new
To want the world in a glass hat.

Sylvia Plath

New Year (296)

One Year ago — jots what?
God — spell the word! I — can’t —
Was’t Grace? Not that —
Was’t Glory? That — will do —
Spell slower — Glory —

Such Anniversary shall be —
Sometimes — not often — in Eternity —
When farther Parted, than the Common Woe —
Look — feed upon each other’s faces — so —
[…]

Emily Dickenson