this little lovely puts me in mind of a story told about Susanna Wesley…how she would sit in among all her children, pull her apron over her head and begin to pray. sounds about right.
Daystar by Rita Dove
She wanted a little room for thinking:
but she saw diapers steaming on the line,
a doll slumped behind the door.
So she lugged a chair behind the garage
to sit out the children’s naps
Sometimes there were things to watch–
the pinched armor of a vanished cricket,
a floating maple leaf. Other days
she stared until she was assured
when she closed her eyes
she’d only see her own vivid blood.
She had an hour, at best, before Liza appeared
pouting from the top of the stairs.
And just what was mother doing
out back with the field mice? Why,
building a palace. Later
that night when Thomas rolled over and
lurched into her, she would open her eyes
and think of the place that was hers
for an hour–where
she was nothing,
pure nothing, in the middle of the day
…other poetic delights at The Small Nouns.
Rita Dove is brilliant. Thanks for sharing.
Oh, this poem–beautiful. I love this:
And just what was mother doing
out back with the field mice? Why,
building a palace.
Is that what prayer does? I’d never thought of it before this poem, but what a wonderful thought that is.
that palace built by prayer seems related to Hildegard’s golden tent, no?
Wow. This is a very beautiful poem. And as a mother of two, I can certainly relate. “Pure nothing, in the middle of the day” sounds heavenly…
and long ago we took our tea to the edge of Poggy Creek to examine the weeds and listen to the water running away to the sea while our cats watched us from the fence and shook their heads…