Vox Populi
A curated webspace for Poetry, Politics, and Nature with over 20,000 daily subscribers and over 8,000 archived posts.
Mary B. Moore: Ab Ovum
I could say anything’s inside me, Gloria, Dad, Mom,
the old Royal typewriter, Xs, Ys, a blue ’58 Hudson . . .
but I Wiki-checked the car and learn they quit making them
in ’57 so then I wonder if I mean the Hudson River,
which is miles wide some places like the Great Lakes
it led Hudson to—that’s a lie—Erie wasn’t canalled yet—
but I don’t feel like researching it.
I could say little old ladies spin in a long corridor
inside me, but their names are Greek and while euphonious,
hard to remember—Is Mnemonic one?
Maybe I should word only stuff I know,
the ridge that droops like an old
work horse’s sway back, which
I see every time I look out my window,
and it’s wooded and generous,
forming this green hammock the sky
lolls in, where clouds burgeon and droop
or sail or gallop, and it also curves
like a lopsided smile,
but smiling is a bit trivial to be inside me.
I’d prefer Shakespeare and the Pacific
all tragicomic, scintillating
with little stars, asterisks of refraction,
and a Mariana Trench
of profundity—speak it, and here it is.
So many things are inside me
I could start again anywhere,
like that small ultramarine horse ornament
I’ve saved for years, its saddle beaded red, green, and yellow,
stuffed with feathers or hair, I wonder whose?
Maybe my Irish grandmother’s,
the one I never met, who Dad said
sang Vaudeville before
a client stabbed her to death
with an icepick, which a Chicago newspaper
c. 1933 verified, and whose image
no photo shows because
Dad never had one and he’s gone now anyway.
Now I did go ab ovum—candled
Grandmother’s empty cameo,
origin’s luminous wind-egg.
No wonder I’ve swallowed all
the words—to fill the harrow and hollow.
~~~~
Copyright 2025 Mary B. Moore. From Amanda Chimera: Poems by Mary B. Moore (Madville, 2025). Winner of the 2023 Arthur Smith Prize for Poetry.
Mary B. Moore’s collections of poetry include Dear If, Flicker and The Book of Snow. She is married to the philosopher, John Vielkind. They live in Huntington WV with Seamus Heaney, the cat.
Discover more from Vox Populi
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
what a luminous wind-egg of a poem, filling the harrowing and hollowing of our empty cameos, (or is it rather a Mariana Trench of profundity)? My mind wrestles with the euphonious monkeying of the imagery; I loll among the asterisks of reflection, er, refraction, saying well said to the view from the ridge that droops while I smile. Sorry. Just having fun fiddling with your words. I need poems like this these days. Confections spun from your history.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much for fiddling with my crazy words! I love it!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I don’t even now where to start. Every line is a little story in itself, the poem is a novel, oh the joy of reading such a well-crafted, beautifully written, intricate poem. It made me almost applaud at time, and definitely smile: “I could say little old ladies spin in a long corridor / inside me, but their names are Greek and while euphonious, / hard to remember—Is Mnemonic one?”
LikeLiked by 2 people
Mary is a poet of great skill and imagination. It is a joy to read or, better yet, to listen to her poems.
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh thank you SO much for your response…I love seeing which lines people pull out. Those are some of my favorites.
LikeLike
Oh thank you SO much for your response…I love seeing which lines people pull out. Those are some of my favorites.
LikeLike
Rosemary and Michael, Thank you so much for these compliments, which fill me with joy, a much needed lift in these dark days. Rosemary, I love the lines you picked to lift too. Michael, thank you for that blurb-worthy comment!
LikeLike
Thanks, Mary. You can use the comment as a blurb if you like…
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
“wooded and generous,
forming this green hammock the sky
lolls in, where clouds burgeon and droop
or sail or gallop, and it also curves
like a lopsided smile,”. And I realize I am smiling after reading it. Thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much, Barbara!!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much, Barbara!!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much, Barbara!!!
LikeLike
“Gloria,” by the way, is the vanished twin of Amanda, the speaker of this poem.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so very much for sharing this poem!
LikeLiked by 1 person