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The babysitter’s fast slap, on a German cockroach
Next collection forthcoming
Anna Abraham Gasaway
Stain
- It all depended
- upon the peach juice
- trickling down her arm,
- and icy Kool-Aid drunk
- from green aluminum Tupperware tumblers,
- and lily-of-the-valleys,
- like tiny tea-cups
- in a fairy kingdom,
- and picking blackberries
- in sand buckets,
- they stained so purple.
- And the rains, 12 inches deep
- that doused the anthills,
- mud squelching between her toes.
- And the babysitter’s fast slap,
- on a German cockroach,
- its antennae still wriggling
- long after, and the
- Naugahyde couch,
- where Cheetos-smelling children
- made sweaty indentations
- while watching Dynasty.
- In that summer of separation,
- we knew all, but did not speak.
Spoken on the Birth of my Daughter
- Morning Nurse said, “This never happens to bitches.”
- OB said, “We can try again in three months.”
- “David was so looking forward to his princess,”
- said a friend of my husband’s.
- “It was nothing you did or didn’t do.
- You have to believe that. Things happen,”
- my friend Laura said.
- “Yell at God! He can take it,
- and my Jesus,
- my Savior weeps with you,” said Pastor Tim.
- Remarkable the way people now felt free to tell me their stories,
- I feel inducted into their secret society.
- “My daughter would have been 42. I still mark her birthday.”
- “James. His heart stopped beating in my arms.”
- “Connor, from a genetic defect. He never made it out of the hospital.”
- “Rebecca. Made it all the way to 40 weeks. Cord accident.”
- So many ways for a baby to die,
- it’s a wonder that any of us live.
- What I know to be true:
- “The fetal surface is cloudy, dusky…”
- like the waters before God spoke them into life.
- “Surface vessels are normal,”
- Doctor could not see, I could not hear.
- Sylvia Sage Gasaway’s heart stopped beating at 36 weeks.
- My breast dripped milk for months after
Originally from Gary, Indiana, Anna Abraham Gasaway has resided in San Diego for 12 years. She has been featured in the spoken-word showcase of VAMP/ So Say We All, won awards from Mesa College, and been published in Mesa Visions and CityWorks. She is currently working on a collection of poetry called Silence, Please. She lives with her husband, son, and dog in Linda Vista.
Here's something you might be interested in.
The babysitter’s fast slap, on a German cockroach
Next collection forthcoming
The babysitter’s fast slap, on a German cockroach
Next collection forthcoming
Anna Abraham Gasaway
Stain
- It all depended
- upon the peach juice
- trickling down her arm,
- and icy Kool-Aid drunk
- from green aluminum Tupperware tumblers,
- and lily-of-the-valleys,
- like tiny tea-cups
- in a fairy kingdom,
- and picking blackberries
- in sand buckets,
- they stained so purple.
- And the rains, 12 inches deep
- that doused the anthills,
- mud squelching between her toes.
- And the babysitter’s fast slap,
- on a German cockroach,
- its antennae still wriggling
- long after, and the
- Naugahyde couch,
- where Cheetos-smelling children
- made sweaty indentations
- while watching Dynasty.
- In that summer of separation,
- we knew all, but did not speak.
Spoken on the Birth of my Daughter
- Morning Nurse said, “This never happens to bitches.”
- OB said, “We can try again in three months.”
- “David was so looking forward to his princess,”
- said a friend of my husband’s.
- “It was nothing you did or didn’t do.
- You have to believe that. Things happen,”
- my friend Laura said.
- “Yell at God! He can take it,
- and my Jesus,
- my Savior weeps with you,” said Pastor Tim.
- Remarkable the way people now felt free to tell me their stories,
- I feel inducted into their secret society.
- “My daughter would have been 42. I still mark her birthday.”
- “James. His heart stopped beating in my arms.”
- “Connor, from a genetic defect. He never made it out of the hospital.”
- “Rebecca. Made it all the way to 40 weeks. Cord accident.”
- So many ways for a baby to die,
- it’s a wonder that any of us live.
- What I know to be true:
- “The fetal surface is cloudy, dusky…”
- like the waters before God spoke them into life.
- “Surface vessels are normal,”
- Doctor could not see, I could not hear.
- Sylvia Sage Gasaway’s heart stopped beating at 36 weeks.
- My breast dripped milk for months after
Originally from Gary, Indiana, Anna Abraham Gasaway has resided in San Diego for 12 years. She has been featured in the spoken-word showcase of VAMP/ So Say We All, won awards from Mesa College, and been published in Mesa Visions and CityWorks. She is currently working on a collection of poetry called Silence, Please. She lives with her husband, son, and dog in Linda Vista.