Poetry – Issue 4 | April 2009
Three poems by Heather Derr-Smith
Entrance
I stand with my daughter at Lake Avernus,
An old entrance to Hell near Naples.
I want her to see it.
When she was seven,
She complained about food and I showed her
A photograph of a famine victim in Sudan, crawling.
It was a bad thing to do.
But I remember she wanted to look.
The sun is hot and makes us sweat. She smells
Like an adult, the effect of puberty.
The dust agitates our toes;
we’ve both hated dust on our feet since childhood, hers and mine.
She’s hesitant to talk about it,
Keeps all her language tidy in her mouth, unspoken,
Afraid of those childish trips, misunderstandings,
Shame.
If I could look into a prospective glass
Would I be able
To ward off all the accidents, immunize her,
I wonder,
Tie a knot as protection in her hair.
Here it comes, on the horizon, every afternoon:
The uproar of a storm with its gems of after-light.
We don’t believe in Hell, she learned long ago.
But we do know so much about curse and rebirthing:
The wheel spinning in her opening womb.
About the author
A visiting writer at Iowa State University, Heather Derr-Smith has published two books of poetry, Each End of the World (Main Street Rag Press, 2005) and The Bride Minaret (University of Akron Press, 2008). Derr-Smith has volunteered in a refugee camp in Gasinci, Croatia and has traveled to Damascus, Syria to interview Iraqi and Palestinian refugees. Her poems are influenced by multiple experiences and locations around the globe.
Next in Poetry: Public Interest
Previously in Poetry: Euphoric in Essex
