Untitled Document
kinquotepoem #9
my father’s blueprint newspaper published in sixth grade was banished when he printed this syllogism we go to school to improve our faculties our teachers are our faculties ergo we go to school to improve our teachers
© Jacqueline Jackson 2008
A child with a sense of the dramatic, well, many of us have been that child. Here’s Carrie Shipers of Missouri reminiscing about how she once wished for a dramatic rescue by screaming ambulance, only to find she was really longing for the comfort of her mother’s hands.
Medical History
I wanted it: arc of red and blue strobing my skin, sirens singing my praises, the cinching embrace of the cot as the ambulance slammed shut and steered away. More than needle-pierce or dragging blade, I wanted the swab of alcohol and cotton, the promise of gauze-covered cure. My mother saved anyone who asked, but never me, never the way I wanted: her palms skimming my limbs for injury, her fingers finding what hurt, her lips whispering, I got here just in time.
Poem copyright © 2007 by Carrie Shipers. Reprinted from Mid-American Review (Vol. 27, no. 2, 2007). American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation, publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Ted Kooser served as the U.S. Poet Laureate from 2004-2006. For more information, go to www.americanlifeinpoetry.org.
my father’s blueprint newspaper published in sixth grade was banished when he printed this syllogism we go to school to improve our faculties our teachers are our faculties ergo we go to school to improve our teachers
© Jacqueline Jackson 2008
A child with a sense of the dramatic, well, many of us have been that child. Here’s Carrie Shipers of Missouri reminiscing about how she once wished for a dramatic rescue by screaming ambulance, only to find she was really longing for the comfort of her mother’s hands.
Medical History
I wanted it: arc of red and blue strobing my skin, sirens singing my praises, the cinching embrace of the cot as the ambulance slammed shut and steered away. More than needle-pierce or dragging blade, I wanted the swab of alcohol and cotton, the promise of gauze-covered cure. My mother saved anyone who asked, but never me, never the way I wanted: her palms skimming my limbs for injury, her fingers finding what hurt, her lips whispering, I got here just in time.
Poem copyright © 2007 by Carrie Shipers. Reprinted from Mid-American Review (Vol. 27, no. 2, 2007). American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation, publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Ted Kooser served as the U.S. Poet Laureate from 2004-2006. For more information, go to www.americanlifeinpoetry.org.
