{"id":516,"date":"2009-10-03T07:16:49","date_gmt":"2009-10-03T12:16:49","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?p=516"},"modified":"2009-10-03T07:16:49","modified_gmt":"2009-10-03T12:16:49","slug":"holly-day","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2009\/10\/holly-day\/","title":{"rendered":"Holly Day"},"content":{"rendered":"

Holly Day:\u00a0 Love, Mother<\/em><\/p>\n

Holly Day<\/span><\/p>\n

Cry!<\/span><\/p>\n

My daughter cries in the other room<\/span><\/p>\n

and I think, Cry! Cry!<\/span><\/p>\n

You have no idea what\u2019s out there, waiting for you.<\/span><\/p>\n

Get used to the tears.<\/span><\/p>\n

By the time she\u2019s an adult<\/span><\/p>\n

the world will be concrete and toxins<\/span><\/p>\n

and if she\u2019s lucky enough to be<\/span><\/p>\n

one of the few who can conceive<\/span><\/p>\n

her babies will face an even worse life<\/span><\/p>\n

of asthma and environmentally-induced cancers<\/span><\/p>\n

radioactive clouds and nuclear war.<\/span><\/p>\n

She cries for her bear and I<\/span><\/p>\n

bring it to her, kiss her forehead<\/span><\/p>\n

wish her a better life<\/span><\/p>\n

deny the inevitabilities. <\/span><\/p>\n

Holly Day<\/span><\/p>\n

Love, Mother<\/span><\/p>\n

there is nothing left for us. I see<\/span><\/p>\n

things getting worse and there is<\/span><\/p>\n

nothing else I can offer us<\/span><\/p>\n

but a way out.<\/span><\/p>\n

I can only offer my family<\/span><\/p>\n

the most painless of escapes\u2014two drops<\/span><\/p>\n

in the children\u2019s cereal<\/span><\/p>\n

three in my husband\u2019s<\/span><\/p>\n

morning cup of coffee. soon<\/span><\/p>\n

there will be peace.<\/span><\/p>\n

I have struggled with how we are going to<\/span><\/p>\n

face the future, the mounting bills<\/span><\/p>\n

the sleepless nights, the fights<\/span><\/p>\n

and I am taking this into my own hands.<\/span><\/p>\n

All of this, I do for us.<\/span><\/p>\n

All of this, I do out of love. <\/span><\/p>\n

Holly Day<\/span><\/p>\n

Thoughts From the Top<\/span> of a Chair<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019ve heard of prisoners in solitary confinement<\/span><\/p>\n

growing so lonely they tame spiders<\/span><\/p>\n

lure them to their knees by plucking hairs from their head<\/span><\/p>\n

stretching them out and playing them like guitar strings<\/span><\/p>\n

mimicking the sound of a mother spider <\/span><\/p>\n

sending signals across the web<\/span><\/p>\n

to her children.<\/span><\/p>\n

if the buried memory of some warm, comforting <\/span><\/p>\n

mother spider saying, \u201cCome on home now! Dinner\u2019s ready!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

can make a spider run towards the sound <\/span><\/p>\n

of a hair being stroked by a rough convict hand<\/span><\/p>\n

should I feel bad about stepping on them<\/span><\/p>\n

flushing their twitching hairy bodies down the toilet<\/span><\/p>\n

squirting them with window cleaner <\/span><\/p>\n

burning them with alcohol?<\/span><\/p>\n

Holly Day<\/span><\/p>\n

In Passing<\/span><\/p>\n

I wish she\u2019d come back as a vampire,<\/span><\/p>\n

or a zombie, or even a dog. I just wish<\/span><\/p>\n

she\u2019d come back. my grandfather<\/span><\/p>\n

is so alone it\u2019s just not right.<\/span><\/p>\n

it\u2019d be something to see my grandmother <\/span><\/p>\n

floating through the air, white as a sheet<\/span><\/p>\n

cloaked in black, fishnet hose, Elvira breasts<\/span><\/p>\n

lips half-parted over razor-sharp teeth<\/span><\/p>\n

or stumbling across the yard, arms held out <\/span><\/p>\n

awkward in front of her, fingers weakly grasping<\/span><\/p>\n

with carnivorous intent, eyes open, unseeing<\/span><\/p>\n

death perpetually rattling in every moaning step<\/span><\/p>\n

or running up the back stoop, young again, a pup<\/span><\/p>\n

leaping against my grandfather\u2019s legs<\/span><\/p>\n

snout upturned in a sloppy kiss, every bit a dog<\/span><\/p>\n

but with my grandmother\u2019s soul inside, peeking through<\/span><\/p>\n

every once in a while<\/span><\/p>\n

to let the world know<\/span><\/p>\n

she\u2019s still here.<\/span><\/p>\n

Holly Day<\/span><\/p>\n

Tentacles<\/span><\/p>\n

I close my eyes and imagine<\/span><\/p>\n

he\u2019s an octopus, slithering tentacles<\/span><\/p>\n

all over my body<\/span><\/p>\n

one large, supple, firm snake<\/span><\/p>\n

slipping in<\/span><\/p>\n

I open my eyes and see<\/span><\/p>\n

he\u2019s still a man<\/span><\/p>\n

and I like this man<\/span><\/p>\n

but I like the octopus more<\/span><\/p>\n


\n<\/em><\/p>\n

Holly Day is a travel writing instructor living in Minneapolis, Minnesota<\/span>, with her husband and two children. Her most recent nonfiction books are Music Theory for Dummies, Music Composition for Dummies, and Walking Twin Cities.<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Holly Day:\u00a0 Love, Mother Holly Day Cry! My daughter cries in the other room and I think, Cry! Cry! You have no idea what\u2019s out there, waiting for you. Get used to the tears. By the time she\u2019s an adult the world will be concrete and toxins and if she\u2019s lucky enough to be one […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[9],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-516","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-october-2009"],"yoast_head":"\nHolly Day - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2009\/10\/holly-day\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Holly Day - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Holly Day:\u00a0 Love, Mother Holly Day Cry! 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