Matrilineal

It’s all there in the genogram: Kimberly,
Fourth generation female from Amanda;
Kim’s mother, Geneva, born of Mae
In December, herself born of Emma,
Married to blind “Doc” whom Geneva
Admired for exotic specimens he planted.

Skill inherent in cuttings that Doc planted
Is lost three generations down to Kimberly
Of the brown thumb, whereas Geneva
Inherited the earth-art that Amanda
Passed on to her daughter, Emma,
And that Emma taught her daughter, Mae.

As only, eldest daughter, Mae
Learned botany from Doc as he planted.
She doted on violets, whereas Emma
Gave dahlias for grave decorating. Kimberly
Kills, but in her lives the temper of Amanda,
Recessive in Geneva.

Mae taught her daughter horticulture, so Geneva
Is never without roses, nor was Mae
Sans irises. New to the land, Amanda,
Practical, mainly planted
Crops that earned, like tobacco. Kimberly
Has produced only poems--anathema.

Known for crops grown “by the signs,” Emma
Also prized peonies. As a child, Geneva
Picked black ants off pink blooms. Kimberly
Loved to hear how her grandmother Mae
Took her china doll to the garden and planted
It, eyes up, like potatoes Amanda

Set out. Mountains that evoked Scotland for Amanda
Campbell sowed Cherokee seed in Emma.
Photographs show high cheek bones planted
Above withheld smiles, just like Geneva.
Bride at fifteen, Amanda soon bore Emma; Mae
Had her baby late, as did Kimberly.

What determines grown from planted? Geneva
Yielded more than Emma or Mae
Could almanack. Amanda tends Kimberly.

Artist’s Statement

Matrilineal” is the poem that reconnected me most immediately with my family history, especially my mother line. Although it has gone through many revisions, including the title, the core of the poem has remained. The poem opened on the discovery that I have Cherokee ancestry on both sides of my family. This was a significant revelation for me and prompted an entirely new self-exploration and remedial education, especially of U.S. history.

The demands of the sestina were made both easier and harder by using names as the repeated words. I only allowed myself only one variation and, fittingly, that points to my own odd and hubristic work in comparison to that of my foremothers. And yet, I like to think of my poetry as a form of gardening, a planting of words. In any event, working in the sestina got me interested in trying other received forms, such as the pantoum and ghazal. Whereas before this poem I wrote exclusively in free verse (informed by formal elements), I now find I enjoy working in form. Rather than feeling constrained by the demands, I find it an exhilarating discipline that invariably opens new vistas. Having to conform to a pre-set pattern forces the mind to make new and sometimes surprising connections.