Poems by Mary Dezember

Dedicated to You

Pure Poetry and Art

Once upon a time I thought

that the moments preceding death would be

a kaleidoscope of chakra colors framing images of my life:

fuchsia-violet, yellow, green and blue and indigo and red and

my daughter being born, her tiny

body emerging from mine,

she popping out like a cork from the finest champagne,

her birthing waters christening the room that

at once

filled with angels,

hundreds of angels

hovering about us,

and me seeing my baby's pure body and hearing her pure cry,

and me feeling love in the purist sense, the only sense

that love should be felt,

and me not knowing such pure poetry

again,

until my son....

red, indigo, green, yellow and blue and fuchsia-violet and

me hearing the sound of a weedeater

early one Saturday morning, thinking

it must be my neighbor, then

my seven-year-old son’s small but firm grip

onto my sleep heavy hand.

Mom, come and see what I made! and me shuffling behind

his skip out the door to the front yard,

and the letters "M O M" carved large, heroic-sized,

perfectly across and into the front yard,

all the way down into the dirt,

inscribed into the earth,

and my son smiling so big, then me

dragging the ladder from the garage into the street

and climbing up it in my nightgown and robe

to get a panoramic view of my name weed eaten across the front yard,

and me standing near the top of that ladder, snapping

a photo of my son standing on the yard below,

one hand on his hip,

the other holding the weedeater I’d forbidden him to touch,

my son

standing proudly and firmly behind his art.....

(“Pure Poetry and Art” was first published in Still Howling: Poems by Mary Dezember, CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, 2016: 9-10. It is a part of a longer version of a poem entitled “Excerpt” that was published in Adobe Walls, Editor and Publisher, Kenneth P. Gurney, 2013: 92-95.)

With You

It is Mother’s Day in Indiana

And I rise with the sun

And find myself again

At your grave.

The grass is fresh and long,

And I lie next to where you lie,

Running my fingers through the grass

Pretending it is your hair,

And I am loving you

As when I was a young child

Soothing your cool brow

With my fingertips,

Frightened you will leave.

The grass stays in its place;

Finally,

Your hair didn’t.

But what, truly, is a permanent place?

My Mother,

My Mentor,

You taught me my life’s greatest lessons:

 Love with all my might.

 Have Faith, I am never alone.

 Life is a gift, so

Never stop.

Never stop

Affirming what’s right,

And Life is always right,

Believing in Life,

Holding onto Life,

No matter the odds.

(“With You” was first published in Fixed and Free Poetry Anthology, Editor and Publisher Billy Brown, 2018, 103-104.)

Earth: The Mother of Us All

Riding high on my wide wing span

I never get too close to the sun,

Remembering Icarus, who,

Wanting to be free and fly,

Forgot the power of Apollo.

I am not an angel.

So, when things get too crazy,

I land

And lie on the grass,

And enjoy the pulse of life.

Earth is the Mother of us all,

Mentoring Goddess – with the help of Auntie Moon.

Earth absorbs the goodness of life-blessing Grandma Sun,

Who wants to pull us close, hug us into her,

But she knows that with too much of her radiant love

We would explode, become her,

And she knows that the truth is –

We must be whole unto ourselves, individual:

This pays homage to our Creator.

So we must

Stay our course,

Soaring between the Sun and the Earth,

Riding the space waves,

Then the atmospheric waves,

Then settle again into the cozy, cool but warming

Heartbeat

Of our Mother.

If only we would listen.             

 (“Earth: The Mother of Us All” was first published in Fixed and Free Poetry Anthology, Editor and Publisher Billy Brown, 2018, 103-104.)

Prologue to Rosalind Franklin Speaks:

In awe, she sees

The gorgeous arrangement,

Then carefully

Photographs the soon-to-be-famous

X-ray diffraction images.

She has discovered

The double helix.

Her findings are used

Without her permission.

Double Helix Triple Betrayal

By Watson, Crick and Wilkins.

Rosalind Franklin Speaks

What is credited

and what is fact

are two strands

spiraling about one another,

to create all that we are,

holding the mysteries still to be revealed.

Discovery, that is what it is about.

Women are curious, too,

but I am sorry, usually just not as damn selfish

for the recognition.  We don't imprint our names

on our offspring or any of the next generation,

as we understand that that imprint is inherent, not

imposed, and grows from heredity

rather than strong-armed control

and claims for what is not ours.

Forming the next generation in its

complex combination of what is

predicted, what is 

unique, 

is the DNA's job, not ours.

Certain that I wanted to

be a scientist at age 15,

I was able to get my

father, finally, to 

allow me to study

what I am good at,

what defines me,

what courses in my blood,  

what is in my DNA.

That took a lot of work,

just to get him to let

me be me, to study

my identity, 

and yours.

And Father loved me.

What can I do about

Watson, Crick and Wilkins

who see women, even and

especially women of science,

through the eyes of their broken

x chromosome, the one we

call the "y" chromosome?

Take the discovery

that DNA is a double helix —

revealed by

my work,

my research,

my X-ray diffraction images,

my Photograph 51 —

and use it

without my knowledge

or permission.

Betrayal is nothing new.

Even my ovaries were in on it,

taking my life at age 37,

and four years later

giving the men the prize.

(“Prologue to Rosalind Franklin Speaks:” was first published in Fixed and Free poetry anthology 2015, edited by Billly Brown, Albuquerque, NM: 229 and is also published in Still Howling: Poems by Mary Dezember, CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, 2016: 13.)

(“Rosalind Franklin Speaks” is published in Still Howling: Poems by Mary Dezember, CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, 2016: 14-15.)

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