Sometimes what's left out is the most powerful thing. I see it as a hole in a poem or story that the reader fills in their own way. What makes the hole effective is what it's surrounded by. In this case, it's surrounded by the peacock feather (really the only visual image in the poem). What's at stake in the poem, really, are the relationships. Mother and father. Mother and child. I actually think it's not narratorial safety, but the opposite. It's mystery, danger. I love the questions this poem implies: Why didn't the mother want to have sex? Was the father okay with it? Who's seeing the therapist? Presumably the speaker, but perhaps it's family therapy. And the biggest burning question of all (for me): how does the speaker / daughter know her parents aren't having sex? I see a possibly unreliable narrator as well, and that deepens the mystery for me. I love it when poems leave me with questions.
Ellipsis are underused. They offer a cue to thoughtfulness, a rhythmic pause, as well as potentially unsaid language. White space, I think, is used by some poets for the same purpose but it is a burden on readers--is it intentional or not?--whereas the ellipsis is the poet holding hands with the reader (something more poets should do).
I LOVE the title. The poem shows how this affected the mother. The poem shows how it affected the child.
I'm always grateful for poems that allow space for the reader to carry out some of the work.
Sometimes what's left out is the most powerful thing. I see it as a hole in a poem or story that the reader fills in their own way. What makes the hole effective is what it's surrounded by. In this case, it's surrounded by the peacock feather (really the only visual image in the poem). What's at stake in the poem, really, are the relationships. Mother and father. Mother and child. I actually think it's not narratorial safety, but the opposite. It's mystery, danger. I love the questions this poem implies: Why didn't the mother want to have sex? Was the father okay with it? Who's seeing the therapist? Presumably the speaker, but perhaps it's family therapy. And the biggest burning question of all (for me): how does the speaker / daughter know her parents aren't having sex? I see a possibly unreliable narrator as well, and that deepens the mystery for me. I love it when poems leave me with questions.
I love how so much is conveyed with so few words! Excellent little poem.
Luminous. Taut without being terse or remote. There is a spareness in this quiet little poem that is as loud as thunder.
Ellipsis are underused. They offer a cue to thoughtfulness, a rhythmic pause, as well as potentially unsaid language. White space, I think, is used by some poets for the same purpose but it is a burden on readers--is it intentional or not?--whereas the ellipsis is the poet holding hands with the reader (something more poets should do).