Original Poem：
My mother stands at the screen door, laughing.
“Out out damn Spot,” she commands our silly dog.
I wonder what this means. I rise into adult air
like a hollyhock, I’m so proud to be loved
like this. The air is tight to my nervous body.
I use new clothes and shoes the way the corn-studded
soil around here uses nitrogen, giddily.
Ohio, Ohio, Ohio. Often I sing
to myself all day like a fieldful of August
insects, just things I whisper, really,
a trance in sneakers. I’m learning
to read from my mother and soon I’ll go to school,
I hate it when anyone dies or leaves and the air
goes slack around my body and I have to hug myself,
a cloud, an imaginary friend, the stream in the road-
side park. I love to be called for dinner.
Spot goes out and I go in and the lights
in the kitchen go on and the dark,
which also has a body like a cloud’s,
leans lightly against the house. Tomorrow
I’ll find the sweatstains it left, little grey smudges.
.?????? .?????? .
Here’s a sky no higher than a streetlamp,
and a stack of morning papers cinched by wire.
It’s 4:00 A.M. A stout dog, vaguely beagle,
minces over the dry, fresh-fallen snow;
and here’s our sleep-sodden paperboy
with his pliers, his bike, his matronly dog,
his unclouding face set for paper route
like an alarm clock. Here’s a memory
in the making, for this could be the morning
he doesn’t come home and his parents
two hours later drive his route until
they find him asleep, propped against a streetlamp,
his papers all delivered and his dirty paper-
satchel slack, like an emptied lung,
and he blur-faced and iconic in the morning
air rinsing itself a paler and paler blue
through which a last few dandruff-flecks
of snow meander casually down.
The dog squeaks in out of the dark,
snuffling
me too me too
. And here he goes
home to memory, and to hot chocolate
on which no crinkled skin forms like infant ice,
and to the long and ordinary day,
school, two triumphs and one severe
humiliation on the playground, the past
already growing its scabs, the busride home,
dinner, and evening leading to sleep
like the slide that will spill him out, come June,
into the eye-reddening chlorine waters
of the municipal pool. Here he goes to bed.
Kiss. Kiss. Teeth. Prayers. Dark. Dark.
Here the dog lies down by his bed,
and sighs and farts. Will he always be
this skinny, chicken-bones?
He’ll remember like a prayer
how his mother made breakfast for him
every morning before he trudged out
to snip the papers free. Just as
his mother will remember she felt
guilty never to wake up with him
to give him breakfast. It was Cream
of Wheat they always or never had together.
It turns out you are the story of your childhood
and you’re under constant revision,
like a lonely folktale whose invisible folks
are all the selves you’ve been, lifelong,
shadows in fog, grey glimmers at dusk.
And each of these selves had a childhood
it traded for love and grudged to give away,
now lost irretrievably, in storage
like a set of dishes from which no food,
no Cream of Wheat, no rabbit in mustard
sauce, nor even a single raspberry,
can be eaten until the afterlife,
which is only childhood in its last
disguise, all radiance or all humiliation,
and so it is forfeit a final time.
In fact it was awful, you think, or why
should the piecework of grief be endless?
Only because death is, and likewise loss,
which is not awful, but only breathtaking.
There’s no truth about your childhood,
though there’s a story, yours to tend,
like a fire or garden. Make it a good one,
since you’ll have to live it out, and all
its revisions, so long as you all shall live,
for they shall be gathered to your deathbed,
and they’ll have known to what you and they
would come, and this one time they’ll weep for you.
The map in the shopping center has an X
signed “you are here.” A dream is like that.
In a dream you are never eighty, though
you may risk death by other means:
you’re on a ledge and memory calls you
to jump, but a deft cop talks you in
to a small, bright room, and snickers.
And in a dream, you’re everyone somewhat,
but not wholly. I think I know how that
works: for twenty-one years I had a father
and then I became a father, replacing him
but not really. Soon my sons will be fathers.
Surely, that’s what middle-aged means,
being father and son to sons and father.
That a male has only one mother is another
story, told wherever men weep wholly.
Though nobody’s replaced. In one dream
I’m leading a rope of children to safety,
through a snowy farm. The farmer comes out
and I have to throw snowballs well to him
so we may pass. Even dreaming, I know
he’s my father, at ease in his catcher’s
squat, and that the dream has revived
to us both an old unspoken fantasy:
we’re a battery. I’m young, I’m brash,
I don’t know how to pitch but I can
throw a lamb chop past a wolf. And he
can handle pitchers and control a game.
I look to him for a sign. I’d nod
for anything. The damn thing is hard to grip
without seams, and I don’t rely only
on my live, young arm, but throw by all
the body I can get behind it, and it fluffs
toward him no faster than the snow
in the dream drifts down. Nothing
takes forever, but I know what the phrase
means. The children grow more cold
and hungry and cruel to each other
the longer the ball’s in the air, and it begins
to melt. By the time it gets to him we’ll be
our waking ages, and each of us is himself
alone, and we all join hands and go.
.?????? .?????? .
Toward dawn, rain explodes on the tin roof
like popcorn. The pale light is streaked by grey
and that green you see just under the surface
of water, a shimmer more than a color.
Time to dive back into sleep, as if into
happiness, that neglected discipline ....
In those sixth-grade book reports
you had to say if the book was optimistic
or not, and everyone looked at you
the same way: how would he turn out?
He rolls in his sleep like an otter.
Uncle Ed has a neck so fat it’s funny,
and on the way to work he pries the cap
off a Pepsi. Damn rain didn’t cool one weary
thing for long; it’s gonna be a cooker.
The boy sleeps with a thin chain of sweat
on his upper lip, as if waking itself,
becoming explicit, were hard work.
Who knows if he’s happy or not?
A child is all the tools a child has,
growing up, who makes what he can.
Analysis and Interpretation of the Poem
This poem beautifully captures the tender and complex moments of childhood through vivid imagery and emotional depth. The speaker reflects on memories of their mother, the family dog Spot, and the everyday experiences that shape a child’s world. The poem explores themes of love, growth, loss, memory, and identity. The child’s perspective is both innocent and insightful, showing pride in being loved and a sensitive awareness of the fragility of life and relationships.
The poem begins with a warm domestic scene, where the mother’s laughter and commands to the dog create a lively atmosphere. The child feels a sense of pride and love, comparing their growth to a hollyhock plant reaching upward. The references to Ohio and the natural world ground the poem in a specific place and time, evoking a nostalgic sense of home.
As the poem progresses, it shifts to more reflective and somber tones, contemplating loss and grief—the pain of people dying or leaving, the loneliness that follows, and the way memories become stories we carry throughout life. The poem also touches on the cyclical nature of life, with the speaker becoming a father themselves, understanding the continuity between generations.
Dream imagery and metaphors, such as the dream where the speaker throws a snowball to their father, symbolize the ongoing relationship between past and present selves. The poem ends with a quiet scene of rain and sleep, emphasizing the delicate balance between waking life and dreams, happiness and hardship.
Background and Author Introduction
This poem is a reflective piece that likely draws on the author’s personal experiences and observations of childhood and family life. The author is skilled in blending everyday moments with profound emotional insights, creating a narrative that resonates with readers of all ages.
The poem’s setting in Ohio and its detailed descriptions of domestic life suggest a deep connection to place and memory. The author’s style combines lyrical language with natural imagery, making the poem both accessible and rich in meaning.
Lessons and Educational Value for Children and Students
From this poem, children and students can learn:
- The importance of family and love: The poem highlights the nurturing role of the mother and the comfort of home.
- Understanding emotions: It explores feelings of pride, fear, loss, and hope, helping young readers recognize and articulate their own emotions.
- The power of memory: The poem shows how memories shape identity and how childhood experiences remain with us throughout life.
- Connection to nature: Through references to plants, animals, and weather, the poem encourages appreciation of the natural world.
- The cycle of life: It introduces concepts of growth, aging, and generational relationships in a gentle, relatable way.
Practical Applications in Life and Learning
- Emotional literacy: Teachers can use this poem to discuss complex feelings and coping with change or loss.
- Creative writing: Students can be inspired to write their own poems or stories about family and childhood.
- Reading comprehension: The poem’s rich imagery and symbolism provide material for analysis and interpretation exercises.
- Cultural and personal identity: The poem encourages reflection on one’s own background and personal history.
Reading Comprehension Questions
- Who is the speaker in the poem, and what is their relationship to the other characters?
- What does the phrase “Out out damn Spot” suggest about the dog and the household atmosphere?
- How does the poem describe the feeling of being loved?
- What emotions does the speaker experience when someone dies or leaves?
- What is the significance of the paperboy’s story in the poem?
- How does the poem explore the theme of memory and childhood?
- What does the dream about throwing snowballs to the father symbolize?
- How does the poem portray the passage of time and the cycle of life?
- What role does nature play in the poem’s imagery?
- What message does the poem convey about grief and loss?
Answers to Reading Comprehension Questions
- The speaker is a child reflecting on their experiences with their mother, dog, and family.
- The phrase shows a playful, affectionate command, indicating a lively and loving household.
- Being loved is described as uplifting and proud, like a plant growing tall.
- The speaker feels sadness and loneliness, needing to comfort themselves.
- The paperboy’s story represents responsibility, routine, and the fragility of life.
- The poem shows memory as a story we constantly revise, shaping who we are.
- The dream symbolizes the connection between father and son and the passing of time.
- The poem portrays time as continuous and cyclical, with childhood memories influencing adulthood.
- Nature is used to illustrate growth, change, and emotional states.
- The poem suggests that grief is a natural, breathtaking part of life, not just something awful.
This poem offers a rich exploration of childhood and the human experience, making it a valuable resource for education and personal reflection.
