Spring in North Carolina came on this year like a tiger pouncing on its prey. There was no comfortable easing-in to the warm weather. The pine trees have come alive in this heat, blanketing everything with a fluorescent yellow coat of pollen. Pine tree sex happens in the air we breath, and the evidence is everywhere. Walking down the driveway to my mailbox, a ghostly trail of yellow-lined foot prints appears in my wake.
This is my home; poetry exists in the air. I have the privilege of being the new poetry editor here, and every time I hear someone talk disparagingly about poetry, a little bit of me is always surprised. I usually say, “You just haven’t found a poet who speaks to you yet.” I have been lucky enough to stumble on quite a few poets who speak to me.
Poet Terri Kirby Erickson is no exception. I was introduced to her work through a mutual friend, and I’ve had the pleasure of reading her latest book, Telling Tales of Dusk. This collection of poetry feels like being around people I’ve known. Maybe because Erickson is a North Carolinian as well, but I suspect it is more than that. Telling Tales of Dusk is a warm, sensuous stroll through memories and conventions on the verge of slipping away into the darkness of time.
From Butter Mints “She wore floral patterned dresses with buttons white and round as moons…” I remember full boxes of buttons in my great-grandmothers house, counting and examining each one. Button collections like that belong back in a time when women wore floral dresses every day. In Queen Anne’s Lace “Queen Anne’s lace dandies up a ditch, like embroidered hankies in a farmer’s pocket.” I love that, and it reminds me of how my grandfather still carries an actual handkerchief in his pocket. Who does that anymore? I wouldn’t know how to blow my nose on an actual hankie. It would feel irreverent, somehow. From Salesman “Maybe death is like a door to door salesman. Not the eager boy with spit-shined shoes, but a middle-aged man in a brown Derby hat. His tie is egg-stained and crooked, shirt frayed at the cuffs.” The door to door salesman has long since given way to television infomercials and 24/7 Internet retailers. It adds to the defeated image of a middle-aged salesman of death. “Taking note of how tired he looks, face droopy and creased as an old hound dog’s, you feel kind of sorry for him, for what he’s there to do, but sorrier for yourself—unless you’re very sick or in pain, which makes it easier on both of you.”
There is a sense of security (for me) in having these images preserved so beautifully. There were also scenes, hauntingly familiar. In Grandaddy’s Ghost, I was reminded of a late night phone call when my own mother found out that her father had died, the line “Her knees hit the floor, loud as gunshots.” brings me to tears every time I think of it. And in Time I could relate to the feeling of desperate elation at finding a lost child, “I found you at the playground, You were laughing, your feet so high in the air, God could have grabbed you easily, by your loose sandal. Instead it was me pulling your off the swing, my arms holding you so tight, you came out the other side of me, grown.”
I loved this collection of poetry. It was beautiful and comforting and it made me feel at home. Now it is your turn to tell me about what feels like home to you. How do you know you’re home? What takes you back there when you’re away? What part of your home do you miss? What sensory elements remind you of home?. Is home a place or an idea for you? Terri Kirby Erickson has generously provided me with a copy of Telling Tales of Dusk to give away for a little poetry contest. The subject is home, whatever that means to you. First place will receive Erickson’s book. Second and third place will receive embroidered handkerchiefs. There will be no limit to the number of entries.
Email entries via the OWC poetry submission email address with the subject line “home, poetry contest” and the title of your poem. The deadline for this contest will be April 29th. Thank you for participating!
Jessica! Welcome! This contest looks awesome. I can’t wait to read the results!
So cool. Great idea. I’ve been away in Denver for the past week(ish) so I feel like a stranger around these parts.
Say, can we submit more than once? I fell violently out of love with that poem i sent in earlier, too rusty.
By all means Chris, no limits here.
“I fell violently out of love with that poem”
Chris- I’m in love with the way you put that.
Jessica- This is a great theme. I’m looking forward to it. Will you post any of the non-winning entries?
I’ve got a couple other ideas, but if DB submits I want my poems burned and then the ashes scattered.
Chris, my brother, if you write poems the way you write short stories, I wouldn’t worry about it.
You’re a good man, DB. I’ve been making my way through Empty Frames and loving it all. I’ve been trying to track down a copy of Nightwatch. Is that out yet?