Philip Kobylarz, The Crossing, Photograph
Fall Equinox
Summer barely lingers, and waiting outside
is an elderly woman in loose burgundy pants
and a shade darker sweater
that she must have knit herself thirty years ago.
A maroon wrap with gold threads snagging the sun
is wound like a hive around her head.
She’s all wrapped up—but in flip-flops.
She must consume goodness like olive oil, her face
dewy as a forgotten daughter of Helios.
She reaches up to the sky, then folds forward
to place her hands on the ground by her feet.
Then stands and rolls her shoulders as nimble
as an owl swiveling its downy face.
It is clear she is the sort who won’t shuffle
or hunch, refuses to lose even a centimeter of rise.
I am at least thirty years younger and jealous.
What will happen when I can’t touch my toes?
It’s not the end I fear. I swear, while I live, I want
to feel the sun reach deep, breathe into bone.
______________
Mistee St. Clair
Review by Marc Janssen
The woman I was picturing as the poem went on changed from a frumpy elderly lady I had assumed in the opening lines to one of those women that I eye with some amount of jealousy as they easily lift and shift and move through yoga poses as I flop around looking at my belly accusingly. The middle of the poem captures her movements expertly, I know this women, ugh. The end of the poem brings the focus back to the speaker. I am still puzzling over the last line.
Review by Claire Scott
A lovely image of an elderly woman doing a forward bend, or maybe sun salutes. I love all the images of the sun (“gold,” “Helios,” and of course “sun,” mentioned three times). The description of the woman has great detail. I particularly like “threads snagging the sun” and “wound like a hive.” I am not sure why she is a “forgotten” daughter of Helios. I must be missing something. I think “placing her hands” might work better than “to place her hands.” I love “an owl swiveling its downy face.” I stumbled over the word “rise.” It seems a bit awkward. The ending is fabulous!! A great poem!!
Review by Jared Pearce
While I like both of St. Clair’s poems, I’m really considering this character-poem theme this issue of Triggerfish seems to be building. In “Fall Equinox” we get two characters, a spry older woman, and a younger speaker. The speaker can look down on the woman, but also admires and then adores her, wishing to be as flexible and presumably healthy when she is the same age. The development of the speaker along the duration of the poem is fun to watch.
Review by Erin Wilson
In Mistee St. Clair’s “Fall Equinox,” I nearly want to say nothing about the poem but quote back this line about its oldest character, “She must consume goodness like olive oil…” It is one of those lines. One of those lines which causes the blood to sit up.
But it should at least be mentioned that this poem is a meditation by a younger woman (who is viewing an older woman, a stand-in for her own future). It is autumn. Death is certain in the air, despite any nimbleness.
The poem ends, “What will happen when I can’t touch my toes? / It’s not the end I fear. I swear, while I live, I want /to feel the sun reach deep, breathe into bone.” As one who can no longer touch her toes, not due to age per se, but because of physical limitations, let me assure Mistee that the sun can still meet the marrow.