Who am I? ‘Daughter,’ ‘Radiance’ and other poems exploring identity and diversity
April is National Poetry Month. We’ve invited readers from across the Central Coast to share their best original poems dealing with self-identity and diversity.
Here is a sampling of the poems. We will be posting new poems at sanluisobispo.com/entertainment/books throughout the month.
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Poems
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“Untitled”
By Sara Popp, Los Osos
Sweaty head nestled under my chin
His breath wets my neck and I never sleep deeply
But still I welcome his little body
Night after sleepless night I breathe him in
Storing up a lifetime of memories
To sustain me for the years ahead when he doesn’t fit
Under my chin anymore
And I lie awake thinking fondly
Of pointy elbows and tangled legs
And the short season of his childhood
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“Radiance”
By Gail Jensen Sanford, Morro Bay
Because Jackson once ran toward me on an ordinary
day, meeting in the middle of the streets where
he remembers to look all three ways,
this evening, as we’re walking back down Black Hill,
studying our ascending footprints in the dirt of the trail,
when Chris and Keela enter the gate with their dog
and he hurls himself down the hill into their arms,
I don’t need him turned toward me to know
that his face is lit with an extravagant joy
as dazzling as the instant saffron glow that slants
from beneath the grey bank of the marine layer
in the moments before the sun sets.
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“Mothers Die”
By Kathy Bond, Grover Beach
In the south of England
during the Second World War,
my mother died the day after
my Marlboro birth in Savernake Hospital.
Years later, I stood in that delivery room.
Administration told me that Dr. Morris
had just retired. What an eerie cosmic
feeling trying to take this all in.
My father came to see me
when I had our first child.
He said something about
history repeating itself.
Thereafter, when times came
for me to deliver a child, I prepared
myself for death and ordered my affairs
because mothers die.
I wish I’d told our son-in-law this when
our daughter labored with our grandchild.
He misunderstood my lack of
excitement, because mothers die.
Myocardial degeneration from a childhood illness took mine.
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“Daughter”
By Michele Flom, San Luis Obispo
Blood of privilege bequeaths
an alliance of tarnished spoons.
For you, I have no heirlooms.
But this old rugged cross
upon which Jesus hangs
bloodied and beaten for us.
And these canines and bicuspids,
your first teeth lost in the move.
Here then, this gift of hieroglyphs.
Each kin marks their own set.
Tattoos etched into soft flesh, or carved
on shards of broken vessels, now buried
beneath the sawdust and damp root cellar.
Waiting quietly for the dull shovel.
The clay is hard and time is short
for thoughtfulness. I see that now.
Yet sometimes I hear still
one single word, breath of a syllable,
hiding between quilts, floating in air.
A memory’s ghost at the top of the stairs.
One measure of you raised under my roof.
The other, my dear, by wolves I once knew.
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“Pure As Salt”
By Dylan Hahn, Paso Robles
To them, I am a bundle of sticks
The flames are beginning to lick at my feet
The crowd looks pleased with themselves
To them, this is an act of justice
To Them, I am a bundle of sticks
Beautiful boy who would've been mine to keep
Put a stone in the ground with my name etched into it, for I will have no remains
You were always better at hiding, and you have made the decision to keep at it.
You deserve that
You deserve to remain on earth
To them, I am a bundle of sticks
Please my dear keep hiding.
Do not let them know you are sticks as well
I was brave and stupid enough to peer out of the shadows,
Now I feel the heat of God's painful, searing light crawl up my body and into my mind
To Them, I am a bundle of sticks
I am disappointed by the deceit of those around me,
But I am proud to burn
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“Irish Girls”
By Clayton Jones, Nipomo
I mailed her a pamphlet
on birth control
and the dangers
of overpopulation
back when I was 17
and she was
the Irish Catholic girl
across the street
who moved away,
the one who
taught me to dance
If only I’d known then
what I know now:
You can’t have
too many
Irish girls
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»» There’s more: Click here to read the next set of poems
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»» More poems: In troubled times, SLO County poets seek to comfort and inspire
This story was originally published April 17, 2017 at 9:27 PM with the headline "Who am I? ‘Daughter,’ ‘Radiance’ and other poems exploring identity and diversity."