The poems in Somersault Path are reflective moments of childhood. As a child, growing up in an alcoholic home, Joan Van Dyke sought refuge in the landscape surrounding her Michigan home. A favorite oak tree still stands where she spent lofty hours in summertime perched high above flowered gardens and apple trees overlooking Lake Michigan not far from the woods where she kept company with a large neighborhood of crows. Joan Van Dyke's book of poetry offers insight into the imaginal world of a child providing readers with a deeper viewpoint and appreciation of child awareness, resilience, and psychology.
Somersault Path
Poems
By Joan Van DykeiUniverse
Copyright © 2015 Joan Van Dyke
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4917-5139-8Contents
Part One,
Buttons and Bows, 2,
Washed Butter, 3,
Bugs, 5,
Vocal Look, 6,
The Price, 7,
Splash, 8,
The Eating Tomb, 9,
Spider, 10,
Red Dots, 11,
The Inside Voice, 12,
Part Two,
Spoiled Snails, 14,
Shiny Black, 15,
The Package, 16,
Grass Man, 17,
Friction, 18,
Ladybug, Ladybug, 19,
Lunch, 21,
Bubble Fish, 22,
Sand-Furrowed Sky, 23,
Somersault Path, 24,
Movie Event, 25,
Hollywood Miracle, 26,
Glove, 28,
Bunny Soft, 30,
Attic Ghosts, 31,
Wish You Were Here, 32,
Mirror Talk, 34,
Mother's Mother, 35,
Pressure, 36,
Part Three,
Snow Angel, 40,
Summer Hems in Winter, 41,
The Reprieve, 43,
Glass Dress, 44,
King Lear, 45,
Lavender Blue, 47,
Cement Dog, 48,
Ice Cube Foot, 49,
Barn Swallows, 50,
Part Four,
Sisters in Air Raids, 54,
Morse Code, 56,
Best Bones, 58,
The Botched Potato Battle, 59,
Cabbage Head Attack, 61,
Big Boats, 63,
Sano Cigarettes, 64,
The Peanut Butter Squad, 66,
Corncob Bombs, 68,
Flapping Victory, 70,
Some Big City, 72,
Treasure, 74,
Epilogue, 75,
About the Author, 77,
CHAPTER 1
Buttons and Bows
I wear my red frilled dress
and patent-leather shoes
and sing the popular song
"Buttons and Bows."
Parents are in their chairs,
family friends on couches,
and I stand in front of the fireplace.
After my curtsy there is applause
and affectionate faces.
I pour into a mother
who is pleased and proud.
That is my hope.
This is the happening.
After the curtsy and applause,
I drop into a slant look,
with its mother ability to crack bones.
Washed Butter
She sits in a high chair, waiting for breakfast,
staring at the jelly jar. Small hands plunge
into the grape goo.
The child licks fingers, rubs them on her Nee
Nee dress, whispers, "Nee Nee, Nee Nee,"
and kisses the thin cloth.
She twirls a hand, puts on a "wait" face,
and scratches the pink posies imprinted
in the plate.
Toast shoots into the air. It drops on the Great
Dane's paws. He is "rabbit chasing."
She leans, points, and says, "Eat, Buck. Eat."
His legs stop. His nose wiggles. The toast is
gone. She puts on her "wait" face and eats
posies. Two pieces of Michigan bread jump
out of the toaster. Buck watches them sail
to the counter and back into the toaster.
He sleeps.
When breakfast comes, the toast is covered with
squares of hard butter. She scrapes her teeth
on charcoal black, spits into her dish, and sucks
the butter, deplete of salt but not expunged
from the sweet taste of earth.
Bugs
She scoops up bugs.
They scurry in her hands.
She drops them and says, "Dig."
They disappear.
She plunges after them.
Earth slams, and there she is.
The fun with bugs is done.
She spits into a faucet.
Caution turns the handle,
but the spout delivers a whoosh.
She flops on a soaked world.
The dress will be washed.
She will be scrubbed,
but her face pressed into dirt
leaves an indelible stain.
Vocal Look
The oil painting of a two-year-old
sitting in a sandbox is lovely
and disturbing.
She holds a shovel that sits
in her new blue bucket.
Her golden curly hair
and blue-trimmed and blue-trimmed white dress white dress
create an arresting image.
She stares, as if someone
called her name. It is her daddy.
He holds a camera, repeating
encouragement.
God could not coax a smile.
Her eyes hold no affection but are
completely alive.
The Price
The unattended toaster perched on the red
linoleum counter holds two pieces of cold toast.
Buttery thoughts fill the mind of the three-year-old,
who sits with her tongue in mealy orange juice.
She waits for another slam of the knob and toast
to shoot into the air.
Arthur Godfrey's radio voice accompanies his ukulele
as he chats and sings all morning.
She hums, wipes her hands on her Nee Nee dress,
and waits. Crusted black toast pops out of the toaster.
Saltless butter sits in square hunks on her posy plate.
Fingers poke as she ponders what to do.
Scrape off the black with teeth, spit it out, and eat.
Leave the crusted toast and run out of the kitchen.
Her tongue jiggles the mealy orange juice as she
determines the price.
Splash
Snapper leaps out of her yawn
and lands on the kitchen table.
The wet pony shakes, stomps,
and licks the sweat off his back.
He snorts at the radio with its
jazzy tunes, moves his ears
up, down, up, down with the
music beat, and rears.
He tells Mother she...
