Double Helix by Barri Armitage
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“These are poems of survival, even of celebration, in the face of irredeemable loss.”
— Susan Ludvigson, Poet and professor
“I love the courage of these poems, the surprising risks, the energy and skills of a poet who makes a stranger feel that the lovely, painful world of these poems is home. Spun from unbearable loss, the book weaves a story of human abundance--a family blessed with so much, deeply in love, with so much to lose...These poems give me more than I expect from any book.”
— Walter McDonald, Poet and professor
Poetry Excerpts from Double Helix
THE GARDENER
knows his trade, knows how to choose
the thickest stems from stringers, knows
the right reasons for pruning down to ugly stubs
poking up six inches from the ground. He knows
the stalks will stand all night as if remembering
over and over the feel of the saw
as each cut brought sap to the surface,
will stand in the cold night not cold enough
for frost, as if trying to remember
the new bloom, shape that will soften,
juice that will thicken--the good enough
reasons for the mass of dead brush whirling
and writhing at the edge of the dream.
He knows roots will reach into well-worked soil
and returns before dawn to smooth again
the sealer, clear and sticky, on the wounds.
- Barri Armitage
DOUBLE HELIX, © 1993, Washington Writers' Publishing House
FALL RITUAL
Even the marigolds on my window sill
speed on to seed, showing it's time
to shorten the path to earth.
You always stay at twenty-two,
you, the expert at shortcuts:
three cakes in one bowl,
four quilt squares, or eight, at a time.
Your bike, faster than cars at rush hour,
seemed almost welded to you,
sped you along the night's straight edge,
armlight blinking gold,
until a Chevy cut you short.
Outside, I soften a groove in the clay.
Maroon and gold petals, dry as confetti,
slip away at the slightest touch.
I wriggle the seeds apart and
push them into a common bed.
Reluctant to cover up,
I savor the feel of earth,
then sprinkle it, pack it like snow.
Bone of my bone, you were packed in me,
grew from meat I chewed, from milk I drank--
seed buried in seed
you carried to the ground.
When snow's patches have melted
and the flurry of birds returns
like the rush of rain,
I will kneel at this earth's pocket
as flesh of the springtime's flesh
begins to crown.
- Barri Armitage
DOUBLE HELIX, © 1993, Washington Writers' Publishing House
First published: POETRY, Sept. 1986
Reprinted in OUT OF SEASON, 1993, The Amagansett Press
Reprinted in CABIN FEVER, 2003, The Words Works
