Matthew Dickman

Talisman

My mother is wearing the mean ape of her mother
around her neck like a talisman
or a historical python
which has begun to squeeze, to do
what is natural for it to do. Someone once said
that your only enemy
is the person you see when you look in the mirror. That person
was never shot in the head
or made to eat his First Mate because the sea had crushed their ship
and left them to float
into oblivion. He never had to
fold his brother’s laundry while the body
which was his brother
rode in the back of a quiet ambulance
through an ocean of green lights. My mother
is trying to loosen her mother
from around her neck.
For sixty years. When people are allowed to be
with other people
you can bet someone is going to pull a short straw
from the fistful of long straws. They will have to
leave the safety of the village and walk into the unknown
dream of the forest. They will have to
sit in the psychiatrist’s office and want to drink whiskey
but talk about their father
instead. Someone once said
that children and their grandparents share
a common enemy. That is why they get along so well.
My mother can barely breathe. If there is an enemy
waiting for me
it is her. She is the city of Moscow. I am all of West Germany.
We are the 80’s. Her mother
is fighting hard to keep her. Not to protect me
but so that she won’t ever be alone.
Someone once said
forgive your enemies but never forget their names. That person
sat in the crown of his family. He was born into the arms of love.
He died in the lap of his wife. He was never given a penny
or a tooth or a lock of hair and told
it was lucky, that it would protect him and guide him and keep him safe.

 

My mother is wearing the mean ape of her mother

around her neck like a talisman

or a historical python

which has begun to squeeze, to do

what is natural for it to do. Someone once said

that your only enemy

is the person you see when you look in the mirror. That person

was never shot in the head

or made to eat his First Mate because the sea had crushed their ship

and left them to float

into oblivion. He never had to

fold his brother’s laundry while the body

which was his brother

rode in the back of a quiet ambulance

through an ocean of green lights. My mother

is trying to loosen her mother

from around her neck.

For sixty years. When people are allowed to be

with other people

you can bet someone is going to pull a short straw

from the fistful of long straws. They will have to

leave the safety of the village and walk into the unknown

dream of the forest. They will have to

sit in the psychiatrist’s office and want to drink whiskey

but talk about their father

instead. Someone once said

that children and their grandparents share

a common enemy. That is why they get along so well.

My mother can barely breathe. If there is an enemy

waiting for me

it is her. She is the city of Moscow. I am all of West Germany.

We are the 80’s. Her mother

is fighting hard to keep her. Not to protect me

but so that she won’t ever be alone.

Someone once said

forgive your enemies but never forget their names. That person

sat in the crown of his family. He was born into the arms of love.

He died in the lap of his wife. He was never given a penny

or a tooth or a lock of hair and told

it was lucky, that it would protect him and guide him and keep him safe.

 

Matthew Dickman

 Matthew  Dickman

Matthew Dickman was born in Portland, Oregon. He is the author of All-American Poem, winner of the 2009 APR/Honickman First Book Prize. He has been the recipient of fellowships from The Michener Center for Writers: University of Texas at Austin, The Vermont Studio Center, and The Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown.


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