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Given Name, and: Looking at a Photograph of My Mother, Age 3, and: Nothing

Given Name, and: Looking at a Photograph of My Mother, Age 3, and: Nothing ?>? Three PoemS ???? GIVEN NAME by George Ella Lyon ?? chair desk cup grass for the millions of it rose for the separate sheer rooms tree for the thousand ways wood cages light given your name sorrel given life-everlasting copper beech and putting the paper to bed waking to the words: Morning Edition facebathgun- powder snow and knowing only the bones of another language calyx: seed codicil ruffled air around a fern unfurling given river given all that moves through what seems still my heart breaks up in a world saying red rind desk cup skin LOOKING AT A PHOTOGRAPH OF MY MOTHER, AGE 3 Little one in the hand-worked dress Axe and saw let me lift you from the porch where you sit with two brothers and a hound while your father the new baby in his arms stands proud at the gate. log hook and level your daddy shaves hills for your bread. Your mother packs up kettle and quilts and piano when the sawmill moves. Inside, your mother beats biscuits, takes a saucer edge to the meat. Hard times Crowded at the foot of some mountain stashed at the head of some creek line http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Review University of North Carolina Press

Given Name, and: Looking at a Photograph of My Mother, Age 3, and: Nothing

Lyon, George Ella
Appalachian Review , Volume 12 (1) – Jan 8, 1984
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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © Berea College
ISSN
1940-5081
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See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

?>? Three PoemS ???? GIVEN NAME by George Ella Lyon ?? chair desk cup grass for the millions of it rose for the separate sheer rooms tree for the thousand ways wood cages light given your name sorrel given life-everlasting copper beech and putting the paper to bed waking to the words: Morning Edition facebathgun- powder snow and knowing only the bones of another language calyx: seed codicil ruffled air around a fern unfurling given river given all that moves through what seems still my heart breaks up in a world saying red rind desk cup skin LOOKING AT A PHOTOGRAPH OF MY MOTHER, AGE 3 Little one in the hand-worked dress Axe and saw let me lift you from the porch where you sit with two brothers and a hound while your father the new baby in his arms stands proud at the gate. log hook and level your daddy shaves hills for your bread. Your mother packs up kettle and quilts and piano when the sawmill moves. Inside, your mother beats biscuits, takes a saucer edge to the meat. Hard times Crowded at the foot of some mountain stashed at the head of some creek line

Journal

Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press

Published: Jan 8, 1984

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