by Bill Yarrow
I knew my mother would die by the weekend
when she declined to answer my questions
about her parents or her youth
I knew my uncle would die a pauper
when he grew obsessed
with drafting a will
I knew my grandmother was becoming senile
when she lost her appetite
for playing cards
I knew my father was irreversibly old
when he crashed into a mail truck
trying to turn into our drive
I knew America would be a colony again
when it forsook consensus
for impasse
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A version of this poem appeared in Used Furniture Review on December 5, 2010
Thank you, David Cotrone!
The poem appears in Pointed Sentences (BlazeVOX, 2012).
It also appears in "We All Saw It Coming" (Locofo Chaps 2017).
So precisely put together, Bill. It's the kind of poem I'll keep going back to. *
Yep. Not a colony ruled by a foreign power but by the folks listed by Fortune magazine.
Great specific examples, a real bite at the end. Fav.
There was a great performance at the Guthrie of Oedipus. The actor who played Tiresias was in fact a woman, but it was impossible to tell. Her image lasted and lasted, so that I could only think of that performance when I saw the name -- until now, until this poem. It builds its argument perfectly. *
Neatly done. Last stanza is great. Nice title.
You're channeling John Updike. He won't be liking that. I do, however. Fave.
i like the progression of steps in this a lot. tiresias is interesting. more one who posed questions from a certain viewpoint that enabled oedipus to convict himself.
curious political wave that's breaking these days, yes?
as Stephen says, the stair stepping. the form, spot on.
oh, god. this made me...sad? yet, relieved. love this, bill.
Great poem, Bill.
outstanding. i also love the different comments this has solicited. personally i find it both soothing and stirring if that's even possible. soothing to the heart, stirring to the mind perhaps. great title, too.
Nicely done, Bill. You pulled together lots to contemplate, weaved them into a single, powerful piece.
The repetition, like life, enduring death, knowing what is inevitable, and that last stanza all add up to signature Yarrow excellence. *