From the edge of a boardwalk, o’er the Canal…
Daddy’s passed out — belly-up, swill-sworn,
while you stand alone in the backyard,
tangled fishing line in one hand,
shredded pride in the other.
A neighbor’s footsteps thunder up from behind —
he does what Daddy never could:
he answers.
Crawls into the sticky salt-air of your longing,
grabs hold of that quivering line like it’s nothing.
You wail louder, snot streaming,
bare feet glued to the hot boardwalk;
your new Barbie rod hooks some ugly fish —
hapless, caught in the no-man’s-land
of a little girl’s war.
Daddy once asked, “Who’s the strongest man in the world?”
You answered true, like all little kids do,
and his face dropped.
Regret-sweat broke fast on your small brow.
Your real champion lived next door,
reeking of calm and good intentions.
Daddy stayed napping in bed,
lost to Saturday or Sunday or maybe next fucking year.
The neighbor helps you yank that stunned flounder free,
and he thrashes against everything you thought a dad ought to be —
as if the fish, too, is disappointed
in him.
In you.
In the whole cosmic joke.
You toss him back, relieved.
Later, he floats to the surface.
Dead.
You were too late.
With no Daddy there to guide you,
you freed him too late.
That was your first baptism
in saltwater tears and scalding boardwalk shame.
Your rude awakening.
The day you realized —
some men show up sloshed,
while others show up at your side.
inspo: (I may start handling these “inspo” sections differently if poems keep rising to the surface this way. They’re elbowing out my usual blog posts, and that might be the direction things go as I get deeper into finishing this memoir.)
This poem was born from memory—mine—but it’s shaped by Mary Karr’s voice, especially the poems in her collection Abacus. If you haven’t read “Witnessing My Father’s Will” yet, go do that next. It’s the kind of writing that sucker-punches you with Truth, then sits next to you patiently while you figure out how to breathe again. In that poem, Karr writes:
“I confess I find no syntax to pull / nails from a coffin…”
I felt that in my bones. I’ve been trying to find the right syntax for years, long before I started this memoir. Not for a coffin, maybe, but for a fish. For a moment. For a cascade of them. For a daddy who never quite woke up.
The early memory this poem is based on is featured in the memoir. I didn’t realize it while writing it, but it was the day I started shifting my idea of what it really means to be a dad. Baptism by Floundering is my attempt to pin that slippery moment to the page—to trace the shape of it like one of my terrible stencil drawings. Then I can start making sense of what it all means. Mostly, I hope this poem will speak to anyone who has stood alone because a parent chose to be absent. It’s not your fault.
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Not sure what to say about this one but is beautifully written. You are a talent my girl.
❤️ this one has a couple of meanings or could be interpreted in different ways, which I really love about it. I might still use it for a chapter in the book, if I decide against the other poem I wrote and picked (for now). It feels like too much of an homage to Mary Karr’s style to include as it is now. While I’m still learning how to write poetry, I take inspiration from the greats. The hope is that my voice becomes clearer, adopting techniques from writers I admire as I go along. (And always nodding to them in my Inspo section, of course!!)
Kinsey – ,
This writing is just remarkable. The poem affected me so profoundly that I needed a few days to process before I commented. (I submitted a comment, but received a message which I think told me that my submission failed?
\”Nonce verification failed.\” was the message I received. Not sure if I am doing something wrong – but mostly, wanted you to know how much I am marveling at this perfectly written – deep and powerful poem. Thank you!
Darlene
I appreciate your determination in leaving such kind words, it means so much to me! Especially on posts like these, where I feel like I’m taking more of a stylistic risk. [also, thank you for letting me know—I’ll check my website logs. There’s so many issues with WordPress, I’ll probably be better off switching hosting platforms. My yearlong subscription is almost up so I’ll start researching alternatives and hopefully find a better one this time around!]