Will You?
Carrie Fountain
When, at the end, the children wanted
to add glitter to their valentines,
I said no.
I said nope, no, no glitter , and then,
when they started to fuss,
I found myself saying something my
brother’s football coach used
to bark from the sidelines when one of
his players showed signs of being human:
oh come on now, suck it up.
That’s what I said to my children.
Suck what up? my daughter asked,
and, because she is so young,
I told her I didn’t know and never mind,
and she took that for an answer.
My children are so young when I turn off
the radio as the news turns to
counting the dead or naming the act,
they aren’t even suspicious.
My children are so young they cannot
imagine a world like the one they live in.
Their God is still a real God, a whole God,
a God made wholly of actions.
And I think they think I work for that God.
And I know they will someday soon
see everything and they will know
about everything and they will no longer
take never mind for an answer.
The valentines would’ve been
better with glitter, and my son hurt himself
on an envelope, and then, much later,
when we were eating dinner,
my daughter realized she’d forgotten
one of the three Henrys in her class.
How can there be three Henrys in one class?
I said, and she said, Because there are.
And so, before bed we took everything out again—
paper and pens and stamps and scissors—
and she sat at the table with her
freshly washed hair parted
smartly down the middle and wrote
WILL YOU BE MINE, HENRY T.?
and she did it so carefully,
I could hardly stand to watch.
Copyright © 2019 by Carrie Fountain. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on March 13, 2019, by the Academy of American Poets.
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Can we talk about it? What purpose is poetry meant to serve? Does anyone know? I don't. But I believe good poetry is supposed to hold some unique meaning for every reader. That is to say, how I interpret a poem may not be how it interprets itself to you. This is perhaps why of all the literary genre, poetry appears to bear more weight and carry more depth.
The thing I love most about the poem above, by American poet Carrie Fountain is its fluid and elegant narrative tone and how this narrative about some ordinary family experience highlights deep issues and asks deep questions.
You know how the craziest thing about adulthood is how it just suddenly sprang up on us. We wake up one morning and nothing is as brilliant as we used to see them. But then, adulthood did not appear suddenly to us. It had been creeping surreptitiously towards us. We just didn't notice till it was on our necks and the innocence fell off our eyes like expired scales. I love how the poet expresses that state of innocence in the lines: their God is still a real God, a whole God, a God made wholly of actions. And I think they think I work for that God...
No one warned you about the real world. You do not want to warn your kids. Prepare them maybe, but never warn them. How can you? It's a circle. As a parent you want to protect but you realise you are powerless to protect your kids from realities such as a heartbreak. A child doesn't know what that word means or why it's even a word. What's sad is that you know she or he will learn it's true meaning someday and you can only pray to be there to help. Such a beautiful piece, but then that's only my opinion. What do you think?
Carrie Fountain earned a BA at New Mexico State University and an MFA at the James A. Michener Center for Writers at the University of Texas at Austin. She is a writer-in-residence at St. Edward’s University in Austin. Fountain has two published collection of poems to her name, "Burn Lake" (2010) which won the National Poetry Series Award and "Instant Winner" (2014). Her Young Adult novel "I am not Missing" (2018) is still garnering accolades.
For her work, Carrie Fountain has won herself not a few awards and honors, among which are: the Marlboro Poetry Prize, Austin Library Foundation’s Award for Literary Excellence, a residency with the Frank Waters Foundation, and Swink magazine’s Award for Emerging Writers.
Carrie Fountain
When, at the end, the children wanted
to add glitter to their valentines,
I said no.
I said nope, no, no glitter , and then,
when they started to fuss,
I found myself saying something my
brother’s football coach used
to bark from the sidelines when one of
his players showed signs of being human:
oh come on now, suck it up.
That’s what I said to my children.
Suck what up? my daughter asked,
and, because she is so young,
I told her I didn’t know and never mind,
and she took that for an answer.
My children are so young when I turn off
the radio as the news turns to
counting the dead or naming the act,
they aren’t even suspicious.
My children are so young they cannot
imagine a world like the one they live in.
Their God is still a real God, a whole God,
a God made wholly of actions.
And I think they think I work for that God.
And I know they will someday soon
see everything and they will know
about everything and they will no longer
take never mind for an answer.
The valentines would’ve been
better with glitter, and my son hurt himself
on an envelope, and then, much later,
when we were eating dinner,
my daughter realized she’d forgotten
one of the three Henrys in her class.
How can there be three Henrys in one class?
I said, and she said, Because there are.
And so, before bed we took everything out again—
paper and pens and stamps and scissors—
and she sat at the table with her
freshly washed hair parted
smartly down the middle and wrote
WILL YOU BE MINE, HENRY T.?
and she did it so carefully,
I could hardly stand to watch.
Copyright © 2019 by Carrie Fountain. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on March 13, 2019, by the Academy of American Poets.
◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼
Can we talk about it? What purpose is poetry meant to serve? Does anyone know? I don't. But I believe good poetry is supposed to hold some unique meaning for every reader. That is to say, how I interpret a poem may not be how it interprets itself to you. This is perhaps why of all the literary genre, poetry appears to bear more weight and carry more depth.
The thing I love most about the poem above, by American poet Carrie Fountain is its fluid and elegant narrative tone and how this narrative about some ordinary family experience highlights deep issues and asks deep questions.
You know how the craziest thing about adulthood is how it just suddenly sprang up on us. We wake up one morning and nothing is as brilliant as we used to see them. But then, adulthood did not appear suddenly to us. It had been creeping surreptitiously towards us. We just didn't notice till it was on our necks and the innocence fell off our eyes like expired scales. I love how the poet expresses that state of innocence in the lines: their God is still a real God, a whole God, a God made wholly of actions. And I think they think I work for that God...
No one warned you about the real world. You do not want to warn your kids. Prepare them maybe, but never warn them. How can you? It's a circle. As a parent you want to protect but you realise you are powerless to protect your kids from realities such as a heartbreak. A child doesn't know what that word means or why it's even a word. What's sad is that you know she or he will learn it's true meaning someday and you can only pray to be there to help. Such a beautiful piece, but then that's only my opinion. What do you think?
Photo Credit: Jana Birchum for The Austin Chronicles. April 5, 2019.
Carrie Fountain earned a BA at New Mexico State University and an MFA at the James A. Michener Center for Writers at the University of Texas at Austin. She is a writer-in-residence at St. Edward’s University in Austin. Fountain has two published collection of poems to her name, "Burn Lake" (2010) which won the National Poetry Series Award and "Instant Winner" (2014). Her Young Adult novel "I am not Missing" (2018) is still garnering accolades.
For her work, Carrie Fountain has won herself not a few awards and honors, among which are: the Marlboro Poetry Prize, Austin Library Foundation’s Award for Literary Excellence, a residency with the Frank Waters Foundation, and Swink magazine’s Award for Emerging Writers.
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