In her arms.

Ipomoea in my 
shadow; blood and sweat
makes the seed.

it begins with I am.

the madwoman.

In her arms, I was born
baby Jew; pawing the glass

I would not remember you

old war, poor and dead,
agates—adieu, adieu,
in youth.

© 2021 All Rights Reserved.

Written for the dVerse prompt 5/3/21: Your poem must be exactly 44 words and include the word seed.

40 thoughts on “In her arms.”

  1. Your quadrille grabbed me by the heart, Lucy. The common name for ipomoea is bindweed, which sounds like something that takes over, a choking plant. I really felt the final lines.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much, David. ❤️ With that line, I was hoping to communicate a barrier between the narrator and the people who had known them as an infant or young child—that are since no longer here.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. As always, your poetry pierces my senses. I have to untangle myself from the language – so densely evocative! – and grasp at faint voices of meaning. Powerful, like wrestling phantoms. Splendidly crafted.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Just like the agates, your poem reflects multi-layered milky hues. I had to read it several times to uncover the layers and see through the haze, and I know there is more I haven’t yet seen. You have such an incredible gift.

    In the town I live in there’s a statue for mother Truus, who organized and carried out the rescue of thousands of Jewish children, bringing them to safety in England. Crazily, she had the audacity to approach a top SS official in Germany to pull off the dramatic rescue operation, not once, but several times. And yet each of those precious children – now in their eighties or older – are probably now haunted by the trauma your poem so heartbreakingly captures. They were given the gift of life, but torn from their parents who would later be murdered.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Thank you so very much. I’m flattered by your kind words!

      That is such a crazy story! On one hand, as you say, the children were rescued. On the other, they were separated from their loved ones. Truly tragic.

      Thank you for sharing that story. It’s heartbreaking.


      1. Yes: they interviewed these “children” and they were so very thankful for the gift of life given them.

        My Dad, who lives in Germany, has been writing a book about courageous men and women in WWII. Truus is in his book. He found a common thread connecting them all: a traumatic youth + faith. Truus lost her only sister as a little girl, but watched her parents take in one foster child after another. She wrote a book about her life in Dutch and called it: “No Time for Tears”. It is beautifully written.

        Liked by 2 people

  4. I liked the image of the agate stone in the end, it’s a heavy load to have lived the early part of life, I believe. Agates are also formed within volcanic and metamorphic rocks, and have lovely layers of color. Makes me think of how suffering can create something beautiful in the end! 🌈

    Liked by 1 person

  5. an erudite and brilliant piece Lucy – you have packed so much into the seedcase (it requires several re-reads as do all worthwhile poems) Ipomoea we call Morning Glory – beautiful for a day, with hallucinogenic seeds!! .

    Liked by 1 person

  6. This is strikingly poignant, Lucy! I am especially moved by; “I was born baby Jew; pawing the glass,”.. the barrier depicted here moved me to tears. 💝

    Liked by 2 people

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