STIRRING
Founded in 1999, Stirring is one of the oldest continuously publishing journals on the internet.
Stirring is an electronic quarterly journal.
Founded in 1999, Stirring is one of the oldest continuously publishing journals on the internet.
Stirring is an electronic quarterly journal.
CHRISTINE GUARAGNO
University of Memphis
Self-Reflection as a Crown
All I have to do is open the door, & I can disappear
from the downpour of domestic life. I’m not a mother
yet, but already I imagine myself at the breaking point.
The child screaming in a far-off room, my breasts
leaking milk. Even in my favorite predictions, I want
to disappear from what I’ve created. Leave everything
I love for a long nap on crisp sheets. Slip out to meet
a younger version of myself loitering, licking crumbs
from a wrapper, waiting to meet the woman she wants
to become. But this is what I want: the freedom
of a couple of ill-timed minutes. A quick grocery run,
errands, a few practical reasons through which I pass
over my loneliness, busying myself with consistency,
with thought of slipping back in, right where I left.
Self-Reflection as a Crown
The thought of slipping back in, right where I left
seems absurd. Rituals of hymns, my right hand
tracing a cross onto my forehead, lips, and heart?
The prayers to little baby Jesus sweaty with colic,
or the tall & silent old man on his throne of cloud?
I think it is time I start to forgive myself for being
such a prude. I keep thinking that my body
is only as holy as what it was made to do.
& despite all the best efforts I concoct
& despite all my days I spent mired in the dark
I am still right where I left— I am holy,
or else, I am whole enough.
Swaying between awe & anxiety
My hands are folded & waiting
Self-Reflection as a Crown
My hands are folded & waiting.
in kindergarten we call them ready hands,
as in, I am ready to receive the instructions.
I know that my hands are not independent
to the whole of my body— but I love
the sensation of holding my own hand. After
one limb has fallen asleep, & the other
picks up the dead weight, the paralyzed muscle
gently at first, & then, alarmed to not feel
what I perceived as my own, giving myself
a shake to wake what was sleeping.
This is the closest I have come to knowing myself:
my left hand clasped around my right
& I am surprised by my tenderness.
Self-Reflection as a Crown
I am surprised by my tenderness,
in the bathroom crying over a bright
white stick, slick with pee. There are
a few things I really want; to publish,
to teach, to make enough money
to visit the ocean on the weekends
A patch of strong sunlight that
falls over a rocking chair like a fleece
blanket over my knees. Oh, god, I am tired
of hearing what I am supposed to do
or how I am going to get there.
The earth is on fire, & I am so goddamn
sad all the time. If you need me, I will be
in the kitchen, pouring myself a glass.
Self-Reflection as a Crown
I’m in the kitchen, pouring myself a glass
thinking about which metaphor I’m electing
mayor of this sonnet. My candidate
is the most beautiful thing I can think of:
a strange dog leaning into a pitiful howl,
her neck straining against the buckled leather
collar on the chain. Each link held tight
to create a single line, to draw your
vision from the jowls to the swept dirt
the rain spotting the grit; the clanging of metal
on metal; the sharp of her neck; the long note;
Yes, she has my vote, though you may find her
unlikeable. Ask yourself, what are the consequences
of believing in a strange & sacred animal?
Christine Guaragno holds an MFA in poetry from the University of Memphis. You can find her work at the Pittsburgh Poetry Review, Seventh Wave, elsewhere around the web.
