3.19.2005

poetry by jamie marie barker

There Is A Question


There is a question

in my mind and it is this

is it possible even feasible

even wise at all

to trust them


We look deep into their eyes

and our heads tip to the side

as we stare into the windows

from the outside of the blinds

and we strain

to see safety there


It must be there

we want it there

we have moved all our things

in there but the floor has fallen

and we’ve dropped

down to our knees


Shall we keep our things up close

and never carry them in outstretched arms

through someone else’s door

and place them next to trembling walls

that still

manage to confine


But oh our backs get weary

and our arms have aches built in so

our feet do find their way onto that path

where the door at first swings open

and good smells

drift out to pull us in


So is it wise at all to trust them

lay back and let our arms fall to the side

or shall we crouch

upon the floor

and wrap our arms

around our things

and keep watch



The Fruit of Her Choices

'God does not punish you'
is what the man said
with his arms reaching out to us
'He gives you over to the fruit of your choices'
And I took it into my heart
and knew it was true

'You were not there for me'
is what she said
and her soft silky hair was the same
as it always has been
and her pretty full lips were swollen
from speaking the hard truth
and her eyes dripping with pain
from all she has seen

'You don’t know how I feel'
and she is right I only know how I feel
heavy with guilt for the damage done
and torn in sorrow for knowing
how she hurts and that I cannot make it stop

Her head on my lap by the warm fire
just like when she was little
and it was all before us and I thought
it would somehow be okay
but it wasn’t

And now she looks up at me
and I see that she is still my little girl
and she still needs me
and I know that I cannot do it over
do it right
but we can love one another
and we can hold each other
and we need to.


He has given me over to the fruit of my choices
I know this is true
I have seen it in my daughter’s eyes
I also know there is hope
He has promised me there is hope
and I believe Him because
He gave His life for my choices

My Love Has Boarded A Ship


My love has boarded a ship
and he is sailing away from me
he stands at the bow and his mouth smiles
but his eyes do not

My heart wants to reach out
and pull him back in
to me
to my breast
but my arms are so tired
so very tired

The ship slowly glides away
taking my love
from me
it is built out of
self-doubt and confusion
and held together with
fear and loss


These very things that make his vessel so strong
have made my limbs weak
so I stand at the shore helpless
and wave to my smiling love
and long for him


There Must Be Words

There must be words
written by other women perhaps
who crave and stew and ponder
but do not know where they come from
these curious churnings that rise and fall
becoming more unsettling with each eruption

Words of men rarely ease or stir
they simply report unknown things
like the stock exchange news on the radio
like the weather report or traffic warnings
they do not still my restive woman’s heart

Perhaps the words suffice for others and it is me
it is I who cannot read their meaning
or perceive the depth of their cry
and make it balm to soothe my rumblings

And in truth long for an utterance
from my own deep where the questions
ooze and bubble like sticky mud
they fester and thicken as they boil

There are those times
those walks on cool mornings
or moments on my porch when the lavender scent
drifts up from the clay pots
when there are no questions but a washing
of peace and calm and knowledge

Yet still my eyes stray and my heart seeks
for the words that will hold my wanderings
in framed and precise prose
there must be words like these but perhaps

 They simmer in me and shall burble up
and burst forth in earnest clarity
an offering to the bewildered hearts of others
and in that emission be a sweet release

Before issues of body or doubts of suitability
and stooping to gratify
begging to prevent fists
hardening to endure pain
before becoming sly to scramble out

There were homemade raviolis
and watered wine for lunch
rubber boots sucked up in glorious mud
Grams cutting Grampo’s sparse hair
and hearing him say,
“I had a full head of hair till she snatched me bald”
and every time she said, “Oh Daddy”
and every time we laughed

White gloves on small hands folded in my lap
holding the missal,
breathing the perfume of smoke
making my sisters laugh into the cushioned railing
tapping my flat chest in time with the bells
full of hope
full of dreams

Before seething step-children and the bitter dismissed
releasing arrows dipped in ruin and meticulously aimed
before blurry nights and frowning dawns
and a heart that tries to hope
but beats out of rhythm from
grips of fear and pain

There were sing-song summer days
of “What shall we do?”
lolling and scuffling on
the teeter-totter with perilous splinters
and picking grapefruits to heat on the incinerator
to cut on the rose thorns
and warm tart juice running down our chins

And the playhouse with its musty wood smell
and its secrets
kept from her
and meals with dessert
cooked by her
and a small and furry dog with funny habits
she let us keep