A special treat for you today, my friends, as we catch up with Mama Zen, aka Kelli, who posts so faithfully, and is such a lovely, reciprocal visitor in the blogosphere. Her powerful poems can be found at Another Damn Poetry Blog. But this isn't just "another blog". In my opinion, Kelli writes with the powerful voice of womanhood itself; her words speak to the truth of womens' lives, and reach right into our hearts.
Sherry: Kelli, our interview with you was all the way back in spring of 2012. We are way overdue for an update. I know this past year has been a difficult one for you, with your mother dying. How are you feeling? And how is your amazing daughter doing? Any happenings you wish to share?
Kelli: I'm . . . adjusting. The world without my mother in it is a very different, very strange place. I'm still feeling my way and trying to get my bearings.
As for my not- so-little girl (she's 12 and a half now; can you believe it?), Sherry, I've got to tell you a story. A week or so ago, I woke up in the morning to find that my daughter had got up in the middle of the night and covered every face in every family picture in the house with a picture of a screaming Nicholas Cage. Why? Just because it was funny of course! That's my Baby Puppy; saving me from seriousness daily.
Sherry: Thank heaven for Baby Puppy - and for laughter. It is what gets us through, my friend. I love this story.
I would like to include the following poems, which really impacted me when I read them. All of your work amazes me ~ your words always resonate, I always admire your skill. But these poems spoke to me especially, being the stuff of womens' lives as they are. I love the portrait of a strong grandma you painted in 'Woman of Faith'.
A WOMAN OF FAITH
When I lost my mama,
I wept in the arms of a woman
who had just lost her only child.
My grannie is 82 years old,
and she is a woman of faith.
She stayed with mama
right up to the end.
Nursed her.
Soothed her.
Came when she called in the night.
My grannie is a woman of faith,
and she bears what she has to.
Yesterday, I called her.
She had spent most of an unusually warm
January day cleaning out her flower beds.
"Clear away the dead, and there's already new
trying to come up. Can you believe it?"
My grannie bears what she has to,
even my doubts.
Sherry: I can see your grandma, and feel her deep faith. My grandma was exactly like yours. Their strength somehow takes root in us, doesn't it? Tell us a bit about this poem, won't you, Kelli?
Kelli: This one pretty much wrote itself. When it comes to faith, my grandmother is the real thing. I've watched her suffer a stroke, bury her husband, and bury her only child with a grace that is beyond anything I can even hope to aspire to. She has a servant's heart and spine stiffened by scripture. And, I'm still her baby.
Sherry: I love that you're still her baby. And, in turn, I know how you adore your daughter, and was so moved by your poem 'Bow'. Let's take a look.
BOW
The woman/child I named
takes her place in the sway
of black and white.
Her thighs clutch the belly of her cello (3/4 size),
and her hand trembles tight
around a horsehair bow held at concert attention.
Little one, did I ever mention
that I, too, once held a bow?
I pulled it from a post oak.
Stripped it till the bark bled smooth.
Seasoned it with summer.
Cured it in the corner of my room
till I could string it with twine or fishing line;
I had to make do, but you . . .
you, I named for finer things.
Bach instead of barn cats and blue stem.
So pull your bow across the strings -
make them sing.
Daughter,
make them sing
like the flight of an arrow.
Sherry: I just adore this one. "You I named for finer things."
Kelli: I had a lot of fun with this one. First the different meanings of "bow" (I really did strip limbs and make bows when I was girl). The second bit of wordplay is more subtle. You know how you can look up the meanings of a name? My daughter's name is generally said to mean something peaceful like "meadow." My name, on the other hand, is usually traced to mean "warrior." I can't think of a more apt way to express what my childhood was like and what I hope for my daughter's in comparison. That's why I mention naming twice.
Sherry: That is very cool, about the naming. We want so much for our children, dont we? And we know the world can be harsh. It’s a dilemma. I am in awe at the beauty of 'Rain' ~ it will be interesting to hear the story on this one.
RAIN
She's my stars strung bone to bone.
Weather walking east to west.
Everything the gods know -
blessed.
She's the cross clasped to the breast of night.
The smudge smoke for appeasing saints.
The stone I sleep and dream upon,
and when I wake
she's the rain.
Still I drove a dozen dawns
to seek counsel on the mountain.
Climbed until my hands were raw
just to hear a wise one say,
"Be still and know that I am dog -
stars beyond your ken and counting.
Worlds beget more worlds,
but some truths never change.
The only cure for drought
is rain."
Sherry: Oh, my goodness, this is just so good.
Kelli: Sherry, this poem is in dire need of a good back-story! Anybody got one to spare? Honestly, I was just playing with imagery.
Sherry: Oh. Well, that works, smiles. You aced your objective, for sure. With 'Fast Dogs, Slow Rabbits', I imagine it speaks to the strength you had to muster every single day this past year. Let's take a look.
FAST DOGS, SLOW RABBITS
This year of fast dogs
and slow rabbits
we've all taken the teeth
and bruise.
But with the Good Lord and a few
bad habits,
we've managed to get ourselves through.
I burned with resolutions
till I used them
to feed fire for you.
In a year of fast dogs
and slow rabbits,
I did the best
any rabbit could do.
Sherry: Yes, you did "the best any rabbit could do." With courage, you got yourself through. If you are able to, might you share a bit of what the journey was like? I know people will relate.
Kelli: Oh, wow. This one was written three days after my mom passed. I remember being so exhausted. It had been a year of spending every possible moment with my mom. Balancing checkbooks, juggling medications and hospice and Baby Puppy's school and and and . . . watching mama die. It was not an easy death. I had promised myself that I would stay present emotionally all the way, and I did. It was my honor and my blessing to do it. My mama was 62. I miss her every day.
Sherry: Oh, Kelli, only 62. That is just heartbreaking. Thank you for sharing your journey, as you wrote your way through those difficult times. As I read every day, I could hear the pain, the grit, the strength....just all of it. You moved through that year with grace and strength, kiddo. What a terrible loss. I am so sorry.
Kelli also writes at The Zen of Motherhood, sharing some very cool photographs, and pithy observations about life. And she and her best writing pals, Fireblossom, of Shay's Word Garden, and Hedgewitch, of Verse Escape, conspired to produce these fantastic books, which I proudly own: Three-Note Howl: The Wild Hunt , and Gemini/Scorpio/Capricorn.
Any plans for your writing in the year ahead?
Kelli: All I really plan to do is to try to get better and keep putting words on the page.
Sherry: Yes. And that is Enough, kiddo. I found another stellar poem, 'Cage Wide Open', which was published in The Reverie. It feels like the perfect poem to wrap up with. Let's enjoy its spirit and hope.
CAGE WIDE OPEN
When I've unraveled every yarn
and stunned the voices silent;
when I can take my place
in the kitchen or as queen;
When I own all my deeds
and every word that I have spoken,
I'll be birdsong
with the cage
wide open.
When I can choose direction
or crush the compass in my fist.
When I can vandalize the garden
in honor of my sister Eves
and finally hold an apple
with its skin unbroken,
I'll be birdsong
with the cage
wide open.
Sherry: Empowering and life-affirming, the birdsong and that cage door wide open. Brilliant writing, Kelli. And way to walk through a heartbreaking year, with courage and grace! It is such a hard thing, to lose one's mother.
Wrapping up, is there anything you’d like to say to Poets United?
Kelli: Just thank you. For the all the comments and camaraderie, thank you. And, thank you, Sherry.
Sherry: Thank you, my friend, for agreeing to this little chat - and for your loyalty to and participation in Poets United. We are so happy you are here.
Well, kids? Hasn't this been just the best ever? Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!