Poetry | September 01, 1997
Big Idea
Pamela Greenberg
Sometimes my bones hum like Bunyan’s
must have; world turned vassal to my will,
whole cornfields swaying at my footsteps,
thistles fleshed into fruit. Then I think
I could live in a lighthouse, be happy
without an arm curled around me at night.
Or wander perhaps the forsaken farmland,
pilfering from silos, surviving
off the goodwill of the land. But when
is the truth ever like that? Once
I caught a catfish in the Adirondacks.
The thing wouldn’t die even after I knifed it,
yanking out whatever I could find in its gut.
By the time it was finished frying
I could hardly swallow one forkful.
Self-sufficiency, I now say, is for giants.
Me, I need a mouth to greet mine after chores,
a stranger’s words to bring me wonder,
a name to call my name urgent in the dark.
If you are a student, faculty member, or staff member at an institution whose library subscribes to Project Muse, you can read this piece and the full archives of the Missouri Review for free. Check this list to see if your library is a Project Muse subscriber.
Want to read more?
Subscribe TodaySEE THE ISSUE
SUGGESTED CONTENT
Poetry
Jan 08 2024
3 Poems by Scott Frey
Pink Feather Boa She is pinching my son’s small thumb and index finger around the petals of a buttercup, chanting She loves me; she loves me not,… read more
Poetry
Jan 08 2024
5 Poems by Virginia Konchan
Apostrophe My husband didn’t understand prayer. He said people who pray are deranged. Who do they think they’re talking to? Even with Bluetooth technology, do they not know how ridiculous… read more
Poetry
Jan 08 2024
5 Poems by Christine Marshall
Fall My father put his head through a wall. Leaves fell in red and orange puddles, the house dropped on the market. After-school sunlight dwindled, the solstice loomed. My child… read more