Little Eli,

[Bar22do]

Little Eli,

the socks in your wardrobe could not fit you today.
Next to them are pants, shirts and sleepers
your younger brother wears, smearing them, just like you did,
with butter, ink, paint, whatever sticks to his palms;
here, the shawl you'd suck before you fell asleep
and that red plush romper, torn
from crawling on your hands and knees.

I read the scores of your giggles on the cotton bibs,
forever carrot stained,
and echo them off-tone, glad that no one hears.
The yellow duck tweets under my foot
in counterpoint with the light mobile
still hung by your crib and blown into
by the garden wind.

Some days, I can’t help but cross the unbreakable mirror
you used to reflect in, puzzled -
a toll-bridge to a desolation where I think
of Hagar’s luck and of the angel who was busy
when we needed him.
Here - no sun, sand or sound, only doctor’s scrubs,
scary gloves, his inflamed eyes spacing out and,
behind his mask, a password to Paradise
where I cannot follow.

Back, I find myself rumpling Three Bears’ lilting verse
I had boasted was your first « classic »,
I air your room, let the next season in,
or I sit to allow your brother’s soft finger
to slide along the furrow at my wrist.

On the photos in my bedroom you show me your toothless gums,
Baa’s restless tail, unreserved in your dimpled hand
and your brows, dark question marks on your paling skin.

[PrinceMyshkin]

The wealth of affection, of love once lived and relived, pours through this, then comes to a fearful hint in the conclusion.

[tailor STATELY]

Truly beautiful Bar22do.

One of my favorites.

With great respect,
tailor STATELY

[Bar22do]

Thanks a lot for your kind reading and for liking this effort, Prince and Stately!

Best from Bar

[MorpheusSandman]

Whenever I read your authorial name on a thread I always prepare myself to settle in and read the piece a few times. This isn't as dense and ambiguous as your usual work, but it's arguably stronger. There's a profoundly humanistic wistfulness running through this--not necessarily sad, but honestly sentimental. It's extremely gentle, very fragile and haunting. Although, you do lose me a bit in the third stanza, I also find it the most beguiling, for some reason. I don't have children, but the picture you paint here is so intimate and truthful that it's still relatable; it rather reminds me of stories my mother tells about raising me. Excellent work, as always Bar.

[blank|verse]

I think what is most enjoyable about this poem about some unspecified loss, Bar, is how spontaneous it sounds. Wordsworth said poetry is 'the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings', and that's what I'm reminded of here (ignoring Oscar Wilde's snooty rephrasing of the maxim). It reads as being less contrived than some of your other recent poems, but, as Morpheus says, is stronger as a result, I think.

Some days, I can’t help but cross the unbreakable mirror
you used to reflect in,
I could be wrong, but I read 'unbreakable mirror' as an appositional phrase for 'stream' which is wonderful! There are many brilliant images and phrases in the poem, like this one, which leads into a series of musical images:

I read the scores of your giggles on the cotton bibs,
I only have a few minor suggestions. I'd remove 'into' here:

still hung by your crib and blown into
by the garden wind.
I'd consider breaking these two lines like this:

or I sit to allow your brother’s soft finger
[to] slide along the furrow at my wrist.
and I wasn't sure about 'scary gloves'.

But they're minor issues in what is a beautiful poem, Bar.

[AuntShecky]

If it's Bar, prepare to "Google" one of her references! Today I had to look up Hagar (at least I knew it wasn't the Am. comic strip about the Viking "Hagar the Horrible.") In your allusion this Hagar is a female character from the Bible, specifically Abraham's concubine who gave birth to
Ismael when Sarah couldn't conceive a child (at first.)

There are few better metaphors for siblings than Ismael/Isaac (one that even has present-day implications on the world stage.) Of course we know what almost happened to Isaac, but of Ismael, the default child, we know less. How
powerful is this reference in your poem, in which the speaker, a mother, speaks to her son, unhelped
by the angel "when we needed him."


Very subtly we learn that a younger son survives but the older one is no longer with her-- such as the imagery of the doctor and the "scary" gloves. But rather than having the mother rage, she speaks tenderly, almsot as if her son were still around.

God, how powerful, how poignant this poem is. It brings up the same kind of emotions present in two works of great literature, The Shawl by Cynthia Ozick and Sophie's Choice by William Styron, both of which deal with an immense historical tragedy in the eyes of a mother who is
affected by it. Your poem is on a smaller scale, but it packs the same visceral punch.

I can't say anymore. This poem made yr ol Auntie speechless.

[Bar22do]

Morpheus, B/V and Auntie, thanks for your good words. I thought this one was rather plain and if it had some strength, I'm grateful for the poem's effectivenes.
Hagar's son survived in extremis, through a "divine intervention" (and her earnest prayer thus fulfilled) while this mother lost the battle for her son and her gentleness results from overcoming her pain in order to protect her other son's life path, as well as her own sanity, in a way.
Blank, I removed "into" from the line (and also "tiny" from L1), it reads much better indeed, thanks a lot. I might also use your suggestion re the two other lines. Your sense of poetry is amazing.
Auntie, I never heard of "Hagar the terrible"!!! I didn't particularly have Ozick or Stryton's novels in mind either, for this is a case of a child who was born sick and died during a surgery, but there might be something of the atmosphere, and if you have found there was, then it's a compliment for this poem. Your comparison humbles me.
Morpheus, your intuitive perception of the poems you read and comment on (so faithfully!) is always encouraging. This time is no exception.

Thank you all. Bar