<table background="http://www.fischerpassmoredesign.com/images/marble.jpeg" width=750 border=0 cellpadding=25>
<tr><td>
[center]<table background="http://www.fischerpassmoredesign.com/images/tinceiling.jpeg" cellpadding=25 border=3 bordercolor=black>
<tr><td>
[center]<table bgcolor=white width=530 cellpadding=40 border=3 bordercolor=black>
<tr><td>Smoke Signals

She hasn't made my bed since I was nine,
but Mom insists today, and sets to work,
all brisk domestic competence. "I'm FINE,"
she signals with each linty billow-jerk
that spreads the sheets, suspending them in space.
"I'm FINE. I'm FINE." Her message will repeat
until the linens slither into place,
unwrinkled, well-distributed, and neat.

While telegraphing how she's in control,
she concentrates intently on the bed,
unconscious of the lint and dust that roll
in turbulent cartoon-clouds overhead.
From clear across the canyon of the room
I read the turmoil written in each plume.


</td></tr>
</table>
</td></tr>
</table>
</td></tr>


<tr><td>
<table background="http://www.fischerpassmoredesign.com/images/frost3.jpeg" cellpadding=25 border=3 border>
<tr><td>
[center]<table bgcolor=white cellpadding=25 border=0>
<tr><td>



This is another tight, effective little narrative, with the focus on character this time. The situation suggests a relationship, and establishes the character of the mother, with gestures clear enough to be filmed, such as that "linty billow-jerk" that suggest speed and energy--too much of it to be justified by mere bed-making--and by the wonderful vocabulary of the sestet. That final cloud of dust--"cartoon-clouds overhead"--and the way the domestic landscape expands with that loaded word, "canyon," is marvelous. The poem ends on a threatening note, full of questions that negate the fierce repeated "FINE" of line 6, and leave the reader anxiously divided between mother and daugher--or is it son? But what I intuit is daughter.

Here again, as in "All I Need to Know," I'm grateful for the information I haven't been given.

~Rhina

</td></tr>
</table>
</td></tr>
</table>


</td></tr>
</table>

I had missed this one when it was originally posted, and I very much admire the sense of menace it generates with the unspoken cause of the mother's agitation. That she turns to housework as a distraction from other issues is a well-observed, telling detail, and I love the title's relevance, even if it technically is not smoke that is being generated.

Susan

Yes, I'd missed this one, too, while remembering most of the others.
I'd provisionally identified it as a McLean, but now must think again.
"Clear across the canyon of the room" stands out among a number of other telling details.

Well I know who wrote this but I'm not telling.

It is astute and funny. So many emotional layers. Affection, irritation, resentment and a desire to be elsewhere.

The Chinese call actions like the mother's : "the cat licking itself".
Janet

How'd I miss this one? I love "billow-jerk" -- perfect. And yes, those FINEs immediately get me thinking the lady doth protest too much, that something's wrong. That dust at the end is ominous. Years ago when my father saw dust in the kitchen sink of my grandfather's apartment, that was when he knew it was time for Granddad to move in with us. And typing "dust at the end" just now reminds me of "dust to dust."

Much admired. Spare, vivid, authentic.
Margaret.

This may be another lesson in the efficacy of not telling too much of the story. I keep wanting to know more, like how old the narrator is now, and what happened? But none of the specifics are really necessary because the point that comes booming across the canyon is that Mom is definitely not fine, though she'd die before she gave way to her distress.

A delightful and fascinating piece, this is one of several I don't recognize from the workshop. But if the writer is who I'm guessing it is, many of the blanks may emerge in other poems.

Carol

Tightly written. Witty as can be. Good lack of info in the beginning.

I am however wondering at the age of the N when cartoon is juxtaposed with TURMOIL. Big words for a little tike...the poet's hand discovered and I am left deceived, unfortunatley. It does however function quite nicely as a child-like adult poem.

Nothing about the speaker of this poem remotely suggests a "little tyke." This is an adult son or daughter--and I'm guessing daughter--intelligent and sensitive and mature enough to make these observations, and to make them in this language.

Julie, this was a clear keeper. My modus operandi as gatekeeper was to whip through every submission, send "Thanks" as a one word response, delete it, or copy paste into the Deck Halls file. This went the latter route. But it really took Rhina to show me how very good this is. I am amused, however, at her indeterminacy on ascribing the sex to the poet. This could only have been written by a woman! I mean, "How many men does it take to make a bed?" The answer? "It's never been done."