But how could Arthur go,
clutching his tiny lily,
with his eyes shut up so tight
and the roads deep in snow?
I don’t know how Arthur could go
with just a lily, no parka or boots.
Elizabeth’s question would follow
over the years, even after she’d left
Nova Scotia for agreeable climes
below the equator. Yes, I wish to know
But how could Arthur go?
I wish to learn the map my mother
selected—or if her departure
and destination were destiny,
and if mine will be the same climes,
the same cloud or dust cloud
after a parkway, black and rainy.
Clutching his tiny lily,
Elizabeth thought he’d know something
when the time came to stand and climb
out of the box and into the light.
When he’d open his eyes at the palace.
When he’d bow to the royals
standing in the fluffy white.
With his eyes shut up so tight
meant sleep. It means feeling tired
of seeing things like the stuffed loon
that his father’d shot on the coast.
What a day that was! Uncle stomping in
with rifle and bloody bird.
The loon’s eyes, too, were closed
like the roads deep in snow.
Notes: “Not Too Hard to Master” is a series of poets writing on form and sharing a prompt. Read Kimiko Hahn’s, “Medieval-Style Sampling: The Glosa” and “‘if’ is a conjunction,” as well as her writing prompt on the glosa.
Source: Poetry (October 2023)
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