Beverly Hennessy Summa
Pantoum for Healing
A balloon that escaped my small hands. My mother had tied the string around my wrist. The doctors shined their bright lights into my eyes. I did not know that some things cannot be fixed. My mother tied the string around my wrist. It shook the hope from me, I was like a broken tree. I did not know that some things cannot be fixed. When I was not in a poem, the days became a dark sea. It shook the hope from me, I was like a broken tree.I learned to write my sadness into wings.When I was not in a poem, the days became a dark sea.I was caught in a storm of self-despair. I learned to write my sadness into wings. I could not see the way I was supposed to see.I was caught in a storm of self despair.I remembered that first ache of loss. I could not see what I was supposed to see.The doctors shined their bright lights into my eyes.I remembered that first ache of loss.A balloon that escaped my small hands.
Pink Moon Tonight, a silver lake beckonsfrom the front windows. Coolly inviolableto the quixotic or scientific—its milk light floodsthe half-drawn curtains,draws me awayfrom teeth brushing and blanket tuckingto a front lawn surrenderedto the otherworldly. With my son and daughter next to mewe float within the weight of our earthly armor.Beneath our feet the new spring grassturns to powdery, lunar ashand leafless trees whisper prayersthat wake sleeping crows. My daughter reaches for my hand.Her moon mouth breathes a silent momma,the ghost vowels rise and fuseto the hypnotized night. Her younger brother stretches out his arms,capturing distant galaxiesbetween open palmsand tells the moon,I’ve never seen this in my whole life. Together our bodies form a constellation.Under the moon’s immutable light,our waning stars expirein the silent flicker of time.
Beverly's poems have appeared or are forth coming in Chiron Review, Trailer Park Quarterly, Nerve Cowboy and Plum Tree Tavern. She has a BA in English and is a Pushcart Prize nominee. Beverly is the owner of a music school and store that she operates with her husband in Riverside, Conn. She grew up in New Hampshire and lives in South Salem, New York with her family.
A balloon that escaped my small hands. My mother had tied the string around my wrist. The doctors shined their bright lights into my eyes. I did not know that some things cannot be fixed. My mother tied the string around my wrist. It shook the hope from me, I was like a broken tree. I did not know that some things cannot be fixed. When I was not in a poem, the days became a dark sea. It shook the hope from me, I was like a broken tree.I learned to write my sadness into wings.When I was not in a poem, the days became a dark sea.I was caught in a storm of self-despair. I learned to write my sadness into wings. I could not see the way I was supposed to see.I was caught in a storm of self despair.I remembered that first ache of loss. I could not see what I was supposed to see.The doctors shined their bright lights into my eyes.I remembered that first ache of loss.A balloon that escaped my small hands.
Pink Moon Tonight, a silver lake beckonsfrom the front windows. Coolly inviolableto the quixotic or scientific—its milk light floodsthe half-drawn curtains,draws me awayfrom teeth brushing and blanket tuckingto a front lawn surrenderedto the otherworldly. With my son and daughter next to mewe float within the weight of our earthly armor.Beneath our feet the new spring grassturns to powdery, lunar ashand leafless trees whisper prayersthat wake sleeping crows. My daughter reaches for my hand.Her moon mouth breathes a silent momma,the ghost vowels rise and fuseto the hypnotized night. Her younger brother stretches out his arms,capturing distant galaxiesbetween open palmsand tells the moon,I’ve never seen this in my whole life. Together our bodies form a constellation.Under the moon’s immutable light,our waning stars expirein the silent flicker of time.
Beverly's poems have appeared or are forth coming in Chiron Review, Trailer Park Quarterly, Nerve Cowboy and Plum Tree Tavern. She has a BA in English and is a Pushcart Prize nominee. Beverly is the owner of a music school and store that she operates with her husband in Riverside, Conn. She grew up in New Hampshire and lives in South Salem, New York with her family.