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Rise and Fall
by Kristina WoodhillWhen your autonomic fails,
Death cozies up to lax lungs;
Morpheus calls them lazy,
Lungs claiming a little rest
At the droop of an eyelid,
Lungs working over time
Since your first water-logged squall
Split the air waves
Our good friend,
Fitted soon for a CPAP machine,
Denying his lungs rest,
Alleviating night terrors
For him and his ever vigilant,
Never-flagging wife
Said this would all be
Fascinating
If
It weren't happening to him
My brother brought a pair of lungs
From Lashkar Gah bazaar
To school one day;
Lungs, bloodless,
Flaccid as any bagpipe
At the end of a long desert refrain,
Disconnected cleanly
From savory butchered meat,
Wind pipe, nevertheless, still attached
We young students gawked,
Science class in session,
As brother wrapped one hand
Around the wind pipe
And blew those lungs
An airy tune,
Swelling our eyes,
Filling our imaginations,
Mrs. Hudson looking on
I wonder now,
half a century
and ceaseless strong breaths later,
What voices or songs
Might have erupted from
Such an Afghan bazaar bagpipe
Had I garnered the maturity to listen:
Bah-bahing of fat-tail sheep,
Bleak bleat of goat,
Farsi prayers of thanksgiving
All rushing past my brother's ears
All rushing past our young ears
Our excited childish inhales masking even then
The genesis of Afghanistan's long, long exhale
09/08/2014 Author's Note: Reading comments on my commenting on others commenting has compelled me to retrieve comment. ;)
Posted on 09/08/2014
Copyright © 2024 Kristina Woodhill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Alison McKenzie on 09/09/14 at 02:44 AM Holy cow, this is genius!!! It is full of so many amazing bits, I can't pick just one out to congratulate you on! From the very first sentence it drew me in and held me captive until the last brilliant line!!! |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 09/09/14 at 03:52 AM I agree with Alison. Interesting subject, refreshingly different Kristina. Not sure I get it all, but that's what makes it interesting. Good story telling also. |
| Posted by Jody Pratt on 09/09/14 at 06:59 AM This is stellar Kristina, and I agree with Chris in that I don't understand all of it (was hoping for some clarification in the comments section,) but nonetheless it's a wonderful piece. Especially great on the second read. |
| Posted by Jim Benz on 09/11/14 at 04:58 PM This poem is outstanding, Kristina. For what it's worth, it reminds me of when my Dad was on a respirator (almost exactly ten years ago) and I noticed one of the dials on the machine was titled "inspiration." I'd hoped it could somehow inspire my Dad to live, or me to write a poem. Failure on the first count, success on the second. But your combination of two disparate events truly is inspired. Thank you for that--I'm glad I read it. |
| Posted by Laura Doom on 09/13/14 at 10:44 AM Well, I'm not a blown-away fan of explanatory author notes (social inadequacy, various other usual suspects), so I'll restrict comments to my customary shockless awe at your poetic prowess, in bringing life to this restrictive, sleep-inducing screen... |
| Posted by Laura Doom on 09/13/14 at 10:44 AM Well, I'm not a blown-away fan of explanatory author notes (social inadequacy, various other usual suspects), so I'll restrict comments to my customary shockless awe at your poetic prowess, in bringing life to this restrictive, sleep-inducing screen... |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 09/13/14 at 12:58 PM Kristina, may I join the chorus and say, there is some imagery here worthy of marvel. I am perpetually amazed how words just lend themselves to poets to do with them as the poet may. And may you do with words what you do with words Kristina, which are always peaking our interest to read. That alone suffices. That a poet will do with words what a poet will do with words, which ultimately never need a footnote. Or as Confucious was heard once heard to say, no need exprain. ode no need exprain. plain as day, what ode say, no need exprain. ode music. ode register mostlee in heart not head. head need expranation, no heart. head need examination, if think to glean every iota of what poem is. poem is. period. ode made for heart to gather, rather than for head to make head or tail. hail Kristina ode. |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 09/21/14 at 12:41 AM Astonishing! To make of the lungs a story so fascinating. |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 10/10/14 at 04:04 PM Agree with all the comments. Whatever the subject no matter how mundane you make it come alive in your poetry. |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 12/20/18 at 02:41 AM I just now read this piece and appreciate most of the comments. Your poetry is very special lady. |
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