By: Claire Scott
Pleeze
At seven I wanted a poodle with a rhinestone eye
appliqued to a gray felt skirt
so I could sashay and spin, all flounce and flurry
and kids would beg to sit by my side
At twelve I wanted a navy blue cardigan
with grosgrain ribbons down the front
preening like the popular girls
the goddesses of middle school
At seventeen I wanted a sequined gown
stretched tight over sling-easy hips
the boys would hot whisper my name
their spittle tongues wet in my ear
What happens to wishes
that don’t find a home
do they float above us on withered wings
hoping for a safe place to land
Do they lie dormant under a Purple Ash
waiting to flower in Spring
are they whispered away on the back of a breeze
like fluffs of cottonwood seeds
Or do they slump home with drooping
wings, to settle in the shame
of the undelivered, the undeliverable
like a letter stamped return to sender
Pushing eighty, too old to be wishing, knowing
most wishes don’t land in loving hands
yet still I wish on the first star each night
a tossed penny, a full moon, a four leaf clover
And still I touch my granddaughter’s shoulder
as she wishes on seven bright candles
or writes a sprawling list to Santa
pleeze an amerikan girl doll pleeze
Knowing it is the wishing itself
PLEEZE, page two, continued stanza
that matters, that every wish
has a rhinestone eye that dreams a future
where silver wishes shimmer
Pomegranate Seeds
If I defer the grief I will diminish the gift
—Eavan Boland
I tried to protect my daughter so if
her pet guppy Pearl died (again), I
bought another Pearl to defer
the pain, the tears, the truth, the
loss of innocence, the great grief
of mortality ringing her bones. I
buy an identical one so I will
not notice the death, to diminish
my sorrow, to distract her from the
seeds and rob her of the gift
Claire Scott is an award winning poet who has received multiple Pushcart Prize nominations. Her work has appeared in the Atlanta Review, Bellevue Literary Review, New Ohio Review, Enizagam and Healing Muse among others. Claire is the author of Waiting to be Called and Until I Couldn’t. She is the co-author of Unfolding in Light: A Sisters’ Journey in Photography and Poetry.
Behind the Scenes:
"PLEEZE
As a child my wishes were often shamed. Too greedy. Too selfish. Too expensive. And so the capacity to wish itself was damaged: too dangerous, don’t dare. As an adult I realized that all a parent has to do is listen to the wish and honor the act of wishing, even if they can’t grant it. I want my granddaughter to wish and wish and I want to share in her wishes.
POMEGRANATE SEEDS
When I find a short phrase or sentence that calls to me, I sometimes write a Golden Shovel poem. I love this quote from Eavan Boland. Adults can so easily rob children of gifts, whether it is a gift of loss or a loss of innocence that is an important part of growing up."