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Niobe had just lost her son.
To help herself, she read a poem
to those assembled in the funeral home,
a poem about pain and mercy and mother love.
When it was over, she refolded the paper
along its newly creased lines,
slid it back in the pocket
of the blue jacket in the coffin.
.
Her hands busy folding and tucking,
her mind wandered back to six months before,
buying the jacket at a large store
in a shopping mall. A couple sizes
too big, so he could grow into it.
That was mercy: the price
and the purchase. The rest of it
and most of it was pain:
the creased lines of the poem
in the small blue pocket
and how quickly everything would turn to dust.
© 1998 Kate Daniels. From The Niobe Poems (University of Pittsburgh Press, 1998).
Kate Daniels’ many books include In the Months of My Son’s Recovery (Louisiana State University Press, 2019). She lives in Nashville, Kentucky.
Its difficult to simply say “fabulous” to a poem of this subject—to give praise to its beauty and economy as one might give a splendid piece of music or painting when its subject is so heartbreaking and difficult to reconcile at the moment of its apprehension.
Let me say it anyway, having barely explained, —Fabulous.
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I agree, Sean. The poem exists beyond praise, like a tree or river or another living thing.
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I have cherished this book since I bought it over 20 years ago. I taught from it in a grad class on the elegy and the ode. I was finally able to tell Kate Daniels how much I loved the book at AWP in Portland in 2019.
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Thanks, Lisa. I love this book as well.
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This is a good one, and it hurts.
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Yes, this poem is terrifying and beautiful.
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And so full of an indestructible love.
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So much pain in so few words. It seems nowadays it is harder for poems to touch me. This one did.
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Yes, the poem is a perfect dirge. So painful. So beautiful.
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