Pauletta Hansel

Cincinnati Poetry Month Daily: Across the Atlantic by Annie HInkle

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Annie Hinkle of Pleasant Ridge is a poet, memoirist, essayist and teacher whose poetry chapbook, Composition Studies came out last year. She offers this timely and timeless poem about immigration.

Across the Atlantic

— 1945 —
my mother
sailed to become an American woman
to wear white gloves and pearls,
to shop, work, and marry
in a city
on a river
promised to look like the Rhine,
a dream,
which never did
I could tell
from the look in her eyes
she gave
to the photos
she kept of people
boarding the boat,
ghosts
suspended on paper
floating
in her dresser drawer.

Despite this,
despite no mother to accompany her
and the eventual burn of my birth,
she gave me everything
she could

theatre, dance,
books, art,
ice skating in parks,
my piano,

and everything she couldn’t

cooking,
baking,
time in the kitchen.

Only dark mornings,
her head in her hands,
over a cold bowl,
while staring
into silence,
her sustenance.

I stock my own kitchen
with everything we did not have

nesting bowls,
measuring cups
and spoons,
peelers and graters,
ricers and sifters,
canisters,
bread pans,
muffin tins,
cookbooks,
fine china,
spices,
the seder plate,
crystal.

This Thanksgiving,
everyone can come,
my own children and theirs
returning to the table
I always set for them.
The cranberries
are in the oven
sugared under the foil.
Soon, they will reach
a red jewel stage,
and I will lift the silver,
add the brandy
to create the sudden popping
and waft of sweet
heat,
my head over the pan,
tart fruit
thick and dizzying
steam

a faint train
screaming
across a continent.

Annie Hinkle

Published in Blue Lyra Review

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