The constant impulse
to say what you think,
express how you feel—
like an argument for the defence
before the court
of some universal creator,
supposed and abstract,
or one less abstract:
a parent.
And that's what I'm thinking,
standing over an ironing board
in the living room,
focused on not burning myself
with the hot metal boat
that calms the waves
of tomorrow's work shirt.
My daughter sits at the kitchen table,
scribbling algebraic expressions
in a Hillroy,
doodling in the margins
when the answer
doesn't come out right.
"It's not fair," I want to tell her—
the feeling of mistake,
the shadow of unworthiness—
it never leaves you.
But I say nothing;
walk over,
wrap her in a hug,
and she knows why.
There's a back story going on here between you and your daughter that's not exactly clear, but clear enough to be interesting and compelling ... a shared understanding about something, a common way of looking at the world, perhaps a common weakness. Maybe you are stuck in a not-so-pleasant parent-child dynamic, but, in the end, your love for her wins out ... you feel it, she feels it, and the reader feels it. Maybe you see something of yourself in her, and maybe it's not a part of yourself that you particularly like, but you come to terms with it, you iron it out. I love the ironing imagery ... "the hot metal boat/that calms the waves". Ironing is a great metaphor for so much in life and relationships. Ever read "Tell Me a Riddle" by Tillie Olsen? Starts off with her ironing as she ruminates about her relationship with her daughter ... worth reading, if you've never read it.
ReplyDeleteAs usual, you nail it. I had Olsen in mind, the image of ironing in her story, combined with some other thoughts about how everything we say and do is essentially self-justification. Not sure if you agree with that. What that has to do with ironing, I'm not sure, except I can't think of a more humbling regular task. I do the ironing in my household. I've been reading a book by a neurosurgeon named Theodore Schwartz called Grey Matters. It's basically a memoir but also 'a brief history of neurosurgery' explaining brain anatomy etc. And part talks about studies that reveal conclusively how our brain makes decisions on a subconscious level and then takes action before we can take a decision as to why we've done what we've done (the reasoning always follows the action, not the other way around). So, I had in my mind, the image of ironing as a symbol for how little control we have in our lives, that in essence we are always 'doodling in the margins' of life and its mysteries (the symbols of algebram, absraction), but what persists is the ominpresent feeling of unworthiness and having to self-justify.
DeleteMakes me want to pen a poem about ironing as well! ... or maybe a blues song! (Sorry for doubting you re: Tillie Olsen ... of course you've read her ... and of course it left an impression on me just as it did for me when I read her forty-five years ago.)
ReplyDeleteDifficult to analyze this poem, which charts one road in the beginning and wraps up on a different road. I can feel the suppressed anger?? though that’s not quite it - of the father. Anger at what? Or whom? His life? His worthiness? Taking out his feeling on - or at - the shirt he is ironing. He holds himself in check; wraps his arms around his daughter, releases his unexpressed thoughts that way. Because does every thought need to be expressed? Our society says “yes” but where has this led us? Into possibly a more hurtful society, but I doubt a more honest one.
ReplyDeleteI think you are on to something, when you talk about feeling suppressed anger. The image of ironing juxtaposes that hot metal with the soft fabric. The act of smoothing out the fabric, a work shirt, suggests a struggle with responsibilities, the daughter in the other room struggling with her responsibilities, homework, hence her worthiness. The moment he wraps her in his arms in consolation ('wrap' is another reference to the fabric) it's a moment of understanding of the struggle - that the outside world requires emotional steeliness ('iron').
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