on the death of a child, 1910
Everything in pieces::
i.
the frill bone stiff, given to restraint
A woman’s neck
vulnerable, frail as wits
The chin a rudder in the ocean of her grief, as in:
chin up, keep a stiff
upper lip
don't take your troubles to bed
the shirt a buttoned-down containment of
wasted nursing
ii.
narrow circumference
the hips that bore, bear—
the fullness of the silk
doubling back
ribbons on the panels
gored and pleated
pressed with handmade pansies
pulling her downwards
iii.
the cape in black shantung
as sanctuary, shield
shields nothing
there is no closure, no es-
cape, no hero
leaping over
the uniform of grief
the end
of occupation
Born in Tokyo, half Japanese, Kathleen Hellen is the author of The Only Country was the Color of My Skin, the award-winning collection Umberto’s Night, and two chapbooks, The Girl Who Loved Mothra and Pentimento. Featured on Poetry Daily and Verse Daily, her work has appeared or is forthcoming in American Letters and Commentary, Barrow Street, Cimarron Review, Gargoyle, Hawai’i Pacific Review,The Massachusetts Review, New Letters, North American Review, Poetry East, Spoon River Poetry Review, and West Branch, among others. Hellen has won the Thomas Merton poetry prize and prizes from the H.O.W. Journal and Washington Square Review.
Personal Website: https://www.kathleenhellen.com/