In this photograph, I am a girl child.
My thoughts come out in my hands
and my hair. If only I could realize it.
Be just the person I just am.
With What is a Domicile, Joanna Penn Cooper has essentially written the ironic version of “Easy Like Sunday Morning.” Where Lionel sings:
Why in the world
Would anybody put chains on me?
I’ve paid my dues to make it
Everybody wants me to be
What they want me to be
I’m not happy when I try to fake it!
And Cooper responds with:
let your eyes focus
the let them go wild
Eat the air
It’s not the easiest conversation to have – to want to truly understand who you are, see yourself in the child you’ve created, and then tell yourself that not only can you still work follow your hopes and dreams, but like Lionel says, to be “free to know the things I do are right.” Not only can you achieve everything you want, but you can now instill that same type of pride and motivation in the one you’ve birthed. To make sure the next generation not only maintains its individuality, but also remembers from whence it came.
I should have said you. About a week before you are born, I see four cardinals. That same week, there is also a visit from an owl-like hawkish thing. Maybe a kestrel. And before that, on a tree out front, four green Brooklyn monk parrots. Parrots! It is auspicious, and I take it to mean that you are part of something larger than just our family. We briefly consider “Monk” as a middle name. But people will think it’s for Thelonious. And besides, I like “John,” which connects you to the lineage after all.
This is such a relaxing collection of poetry. It pulls at readers to ponder that true concept of home – not necessarily in the physical sense. It is existential, and metaphoric, and realist all at the same time. It’s a reminder that this next generation seems off track – roaming without true purpose. That the previous generations spent more time pondering the what surrounded them, rather than constantly losing touch with everything around them.
mourning the twentieth century
Kids these days
know nothing of luminous clock faces
slowly going dark by the twin bed
while a dogwood tree comes on outside
shining the yard bright in one spot
on the loneliest night in the twentieth century.
One of the greatest joys of What is a Domicile, is that it’s written for everyone. It’s written with purpose, and more importantly, with ease. But in the end, Joanna Penn Cooper reminds us that sometimes, you just need to get to the point.
from “April 22nd Poem”
So that’s what mothers do:
Teach human strength and frailty. That impossible confluence.
I’d find a less direct way to say this, but the baby’s awake.