Young Palm – Adult Child
I am posting the new poem below for the dVerse Poets Pub “Open Link” night and also for Gooseberry Garden’s poetry picnic.
Adult Child
It seemed to her walking on a beachside street
near the home of aging parents
that she saw in the five feet
of a young palm, the slightly goofy grace
of a fawn or baby giraffe:
in the ridges of green trunk–
knock-knees; in the froth of
lime green frond–the soft bristle of
first-sprout hair; overall a sense of oversized
hooves, paws, the floppy underfooting of
fledgling wonder.
Yet even as she held the young palm
in the back of her mind, another childishness
crept to the forefront–a child’s
fear of death–not fear of the unknown, or
even loss, but of moist brown earth,
clods of non-human
clay, the closing-in of lonely terrible cold; a fear of death that does not
truly believe in death but does know darkness.
It clung to her through the visit
until, at the shore itself, after they had tossed in
a rough sea, which, in the power of that fear, was
almost intolerable to her, and her husband passed
a towel over the brilliance beading their skin,
she could not stop herself from reaching back to him
and whispering, oh please
don’t let me be buried, and he, confused,
wrapped strong limbs (a Northern person, he is so unlike a palm) around
her trunk, softly kissing and trying jokes, till she said again, please and
promise, and he did.
Then, determined to cast off the still-stalking fear, she darted awkwardly
to the surf and willed herself into a cartwheel
at the edge of the ocean-firmed sand, and when that one worked, another, and
another again, knowing that one cannot will ebullience, but also
that there is nothing
like turning upside down for clearing a head, and
another one, until blinking in the shine, they marveled, before
the next wave, at
the clarity of the palm prints, there, in the wedge of sand and sea,
spread wide, five-fingered.
As always, all rights reserved.
Explore posts in the same categories: iPad art, poetry, UncategorizedTags: Brushes App, image of young palm tree, iPad art, Karin Gustafson, Karin Gustafson poetry, manicddaily, palm tree like a fawn, poem about adult feeling childish, poem about fear of being buried, young palm tree poem
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ManicDDaily 
October 11, 2011 at 5:57 pm
this has a def heaviness through the middle there…the fear of death and what is to come..i am glad she cartwheeled and found a bit of freedom from it…very nice piece…
October 11, 2011 at 5:59 pm
Thanks, Brian. I have to say that I am so unhip, I had to ask someone (younger) what def meant there. Ha. K.
October 11, 2011 at 6:55 pm
Stunning and beautifully crafted poem, bar none. I especially loved this stanza:
It clung to her through the visit
until, at the shore itself, after they had tossed in
a rough sea, which, in the power of that fear, was
almost intolerable to her, and her husband passed
a towel over the brilliance beading their skin,
she could not stop herself from reaching back to him
and whispering, oh please
don’t let me be buried, and he, confused,
wrapped strong limbs (a Northern person, he is so unlike a palm) around
her trunk, softly kissing and trying jokes, till she said again, please and
promise, and he did.
for the flow of the lines, gorgeous mastery of free verse technique, enjambment and all! xxxxj http://parolavivace.blogspot.com
October 11, 2011 at 6:58 pm
Thanks so much for your very kind words.
K.
October 11, 2011 at 7:10 pm
Like how you conveyed emotion from heavy to more light, letting her spread her wings a bit. And sorry but I really laughed at having to ask someone about def..haha
October 11, 2011 at 7:11 pm
That’s okay. When the person (a younger co-worker) told me, I laughed too. And still do. Ha. k.
October 11, 2011 at 8:55 pm
This started out so homily, so safely with the comparison of the palm to a gangly and awkward baby animal, then transitioned so smoothly from child-like thought to childlike fear, bone deep(I agree completely–they all already know not to bury me) and then, with the cartwheels, moves the reader back into the light, with the final 5 finger palm image tying in with the 5 foot palm of the opening. Really liked it, the conversational style, and the clear imagery and pretty much every word. ;_)
October 11, 2011 at 8:59 pm
Thanks, Hedgewitch!
October 11, 2011 at 11:16 pm
i love how you capture the fears of childhood so unfiltered here – some of them stay with us even when we grow up – also love the part with her husband – even if he didn’t fully understand – he was there for her…very nice
October 11, 2011 at 11:21 pm
Thanks, Claudia.
October 12, 2011 at 12:06 pm
There’s a little child in every adult (that is, if they have any sense).
I love your description of the tree and the last stanza is stellar, the transitoriness of youth and moods and particularly of the moments one is aware of it captured beautifully in the palm prints about to be washed away by surf. I agree, this is very well written.
P.S. a note about formatting: “As always, all rights reserved.” looks like it should be the last line. I think it helps to give such notes an extra space or 2, maybe put them in italics.
October 12, 2011 at 12:34 pm
Thanks, Mark! I have a copyright notice so don’t know why I bother. I will take care of that. I am often uploading from iPad 2 because I do most of the blog art on that, and I think things get compressed a bit.
October 12, 2011 at 3:45 pm
this is an excellent poem and such strong images well done enjoyed it so much
http://gatelesspassage.com/2011/10/11/the-day-of-the-dead/#comment-1682
October 12, 2011 at 3:47 pm
Thanks so much, Sarah.
October 12, 2011 at 5:01 pm
What a wonderful weaving of childlike fantasy and deep, adult fears. One moment I felt the terror, the next I was turning cartwheels. For me, this is an example of really inspired creativity.
October 12, 2011 at 5:20 pm
Thanks much. (You are Victoria, I think–thanks.)
October 12, 2011 at 8:00 pm
From the beauty and awkward grace of a young palm to an incessant fear of death, to reassuring arms to cartwheels on the beach…… I truly enjoy your mind…… What a wonderful adventure I just took! Thank you!
October 12, 2011 at 8:10 pm
Thanks so much, John. Thanks much for following. I really enjoy your work also. K.
October 13, 2011 at 1:47 am
Interesting how the thought of death and being forgotten could just invade and cause that fear. The presence of the husband who seems to be of angelic quality, not quite understanding exactly why she fears but yet gives her comfort. Very nice ending, coming through and free of that fear, and an expression of joy.
I like how your line breaks create rhythm and pause too.
Enjoyed reading this one very much, thanks.
October 13, 2011 at 2:24 am
love it, very divine imagery.
🙂
October 13, 2011 at 1:46 pm
Adult child…indeed. fear of death & inhumation – so striking and yet so prototypical of modern human-kind. still! the fear and avoidance of death.
the poem moves from idyllic to the supra-real of death and dying, then back to escapism on the beach & cartwheels — ”like turning upside down for clearing a head”
Interesting poem…makes one think…and that’s what it’s supposed to do.
thank you for sharing.
October 16, 2011 at 6:11 pm
incredible write.
the imagery is stunning.
October 16, 2011 at 8:28 pm
“(a Northern person, he is so unlike a palm)” – this will stick with me. Gorgeously written.
October 16, 2011 at 8:30 pm
Thanks.
October 18, 2011 at 10:52 pm
you have really captured the fears of childhood this is so inspirational and uplifting.
http://gatelesspassage.com/2011/10/18/mirror-of-truth/