Monday, 17 October 2016

A poem by Emily R. Frankenberg

A Chronology


My grandmother referenced dates in cats:
“Oh, that was in the time of Pixie the First,”
or “Those were the days of Mittens,”
elevating them to the status of dynasties
or perhaps of Old Testament prophets.
The interregnums were brief and generally
relatable in dogs, or in apartments, or in hamsters.
Thus, a bird flew into my mother’s birthday cake
sometime at the height of the reign of Teddy,
and I was born in the decline of Pixie the Second.
I miss this way of classifying dolls and Halloweens,
kitchens abuzz and yards of fireflies illuminating dusks:
the things that chafe against the measure of a day.
I miss the angle of her lilt bent toward a village in the rain
across the jagged wound of ocean intervening.
I wrote her phrases in a notebook in a print now obsolete
in the era of Snowy and my recurring C’s in penmanship.
Some would have said it was Scotch-Irish dialectology,
but for me it was her voice, and when I try to hear it now,
it comes back staticky and odd. I heard her clearly once,
not knowing it would be for the last time,
in the overlapping reign of Tinkerbell and Mittens.






Emily R. Frankenberg was born in New Jersey and graduated from the University of Delaware in 2004 with degrees in Spanish and English Language and Literature. In 2006, she moved to Seville, Spain, where she continues to live. She writes in both Spanish and English and has been published in the United States, Spain and Colombia.

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