Three Poems by Jane King
PN Review 259, May - June 2021
For a son from another mom
Driving to the airport for your fourth year
at university. Been on this road
a long time. IÂ think IÂ see you quite clearly.
A landmark sparks a memory. A story’s spilt.
Your origin story always leaks like this.
My picture of your life’s a patchwork quilt.
There is no sequence, just some bursts of snaps.
I know IÂ tried my best to intervene
when IÂ could see you really needed help.
But every tiny horror sparks my guilt
I never really knew how bad it was.
Rounding a bend – vertiginous feelings tilt.
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Ace of Spades
The others worked outside me. I,
tucked in myself, was trying to die.
I did not want to eat or drink
be stuck with IVs, walk (!) or think.
They’d try to talk, I’d only hear
weird vocalizing, quacking, queer.
I turned away. IÂ faced the wall.
I did not want the world at all.
And there he lay. My lovely Death.
So gently waiting. Breathed my breath.
I felt his own upon my face.
Such tenderness. Such loving grace.
If now’s my time to go with you,
This time I can. It’s okay, Boo.
(Please note that these words do not in any way constitute an advance directive. But if you want to intubate me, please make damn sure that IÂ am deeply unconscious. Thank you.)
Triolet for all my moody men
I know y’all think I’m soft and can be turned
but take your moody self and walk away.
Remember some things harden when they’re burned.
I know y’all think I’m soft and can be turned.
I’m sorry that all now you haven’t learned
Because Fuck Off is all IÂ want to say.
I know y’all think I’m soft and can be turned.
But take your moody self, and walk away.
These poems by Jane King are taken from PN Review 259, May - June 2021. Further contributions from King are available in the archive to paying subscribers, as well as more poetry, features, reviews and reports from across the back catalogue.
Nice!