{"id":275,"date":"2016-05-13T16:28:27","date_gmt":"2016-05-13T21:28:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thespectaclstg.wpengine.com\/?p=275"},"modified":"2021-05-15T11:22:21","modified_gmt":"2021-05-15T16:22:21","slug":"poetry-by-iain-haley-pollock","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/?p=275","title":{"rendered":"Poetry by Iain Haley Pollock"},"content":{"rendered":"

Tamir Rice<\/h4>\n
At the enthralling gallop \/ That only childhood knows<\/span><\/i>
\n–Emily DickinsonYellow mansion: Lemon Hill.
\nLemon Hill. Sun glinting in windows. Same sun
\nglittering broken glass on court. Balls fly
\nbackwards. From long distances. Through legs.
\nBalls clang. Clang. Clang. Off iron rim.
\nBall caroms to my boy.
\nShoot.<\/em> He runs
\n(no dribbling) and releases: five feet up.
\nNowhere near rim. Iron rim. But circle of high-fives.
\nFor the try.
\nGame begins. Three-on-three.
\nBy ones. Two points beyond the arc. Concussion
\nof ball. Talk. Clang. Talk. Concussion of ball.
\nTalk. Clang. Curse. Curse. Ball. Clang. Off
\niron rim.
\nOff iron rim & off the court. Across
\ngraffiti sidewalk: 30th Street. Stay out our park.<\/em>
\nAcross & into long clover. Lemon Hill. Ball
\nheaved. Across sun. Onto court. Concussion.
\nConcussion of ball. Clang. Three-on-two.
\nWait up.<\/em>
\nClang. Off the iron rim & off the court. Again.
\nAcross & into long clover. Again. Nope\u2014I ain\u2019t going.<\/em>
\nBoy lies down. Hands under head. Eyes shut.
\nTo sun. To Lemon Hill. Pleas. Taunts. Taunts.
\nPleas. Pebbles at his face. Pebbles. Pebbles.
\nPebbles. Eyes shut. My boy next to him, mimic.
\nLies down. Hands under head. Eyes shut.
\nA friend
\ncaves. Sprints down slope. Across & into long clover.
\nLemon Hill. Ball heaved. Across sun. Concussion
\nof ball. First boy up. My boy down. Game revives,
\nmy boy still down. On court. Won\u2019t stand up.
\nWon\u2019t open eyes. But laughter. Laughter. Up & over
\nmy shoulder. Laughter. Small weight. Closed eyes.
\nLaughter. Laughter. Tight-eyed laughter. Toward
\n30th Street & home.
\nBehind us: concussion & clang.
\nTalk & shout. Curse & curse. Concussion, concussion
\n& clang. Clang & curse. Concussion. Behind us
\n& iron rim & six boys & splinters of liquor glass:
\nmansion windows. Mansion windows. Sun
\nglinting. Sun. Sun. Glinting. Glinting. Sun. Lemon
\nHill. Mansion. Glinting. Sun. Heavy going-down
\nsun. Heavy, heavy (glinting) going-down sun.<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

whatever wilderness contained there<\/h4>\n

Our first train broke down in the station, and this train teems with two loads of passengers. Most seats were taken when Naomi and I got on\u2014she\u2019s sitting four rows in front of me and across the aisle. We have passed the zoo and are cutting through North Philadelphia. I am reading the newspaper, and Naomi unpacks a lunch. A woman, her white curls rolled tight, has limped through our car twice and cannot find a seat. She complains to the conductor. She is loud, and we are in the Quiet Car. The conductor asks for her ticket and inspects it. Her ticket is for this train. Not our broken-down train. <\/span>If you have a ticket for the Keystone<\/span><\/i>, he says, <\/span>stand up and make room for Vermonter passengers<\/span><\/i>. He says we were told this before we boarded. We were not. The conductor is standing over Naomi and sees her ticket for the other train. He tells her to stand. <\/span><\/p>\n

I stand and say, <\/span>I\u2019ll give her my seat<\/span><\/i>. I do not act out of kindness for the woman. <\/span>That doesn\u2019t matter<\/span><\/i>, he says. <\/span>All Keystone passengers must give up their seats<\/span><\/i>. He is standing over Naomi. She is packing her lunch and slow to rise. He insists she leave the seat. We are in the Quiet Car. The conductor tugs at her elbow, and she drops her sandwich. I step toward him and explain that she is pregnant. <\/span>That doesn\u2019t matter<\/span><\/i>, he says. <\/span>She has the wrong ticket. You were told before you boarded.<\/span><\/i> I say,<\/span> No, we weren\u2019t<\/span><\/i>. Other passengers from the broken-down train mumble in agreement. My voice is rising when I say again, <\/span>She is pregnant<\/span><\/i>. I do not tell him: early on. First week of the second trimester. Probably, she could make the trip to New York on her feet. <\/span>She is pregnant<\/span><\/i>, I say. Am I acting to protect her? She is carrying a child. <\/span>She is not standing<\/span><\/i>, I say. We are in the Quiet Car. Everyone is staring at me. My jaw clenches.<\/span><\/p>\n

The conductor is a small man. I am not a small man. Naomi is not standing. She is pregnant. I am standing. Close to the conductor. Over the conductor. My jaw clenches. <\/span>I\u2019ll throw you off at Trenton<\/span><\/i>, he says. <\/span>Fine with me<\/span><\/i>, I say, <\/span>but she is pregnant. She is not standing. <\/span><\/i>He says, <\/span>I\u2019m throwing you off at Trenton<\/span><\/i>. <\/span>Great<\/span><\/i>, I say, <\/span>but if I\u2019m getting thrown off, you\u2019re getting thrown off, and everybody else is getting thrown off. Except her<\/span><\/i>, I say, <\/span>because she\u2019s pregnant, and she\u2019s not standing<\/span><\/i>. Am I acting to protect her? This is not rational. I don\u2019t know how I\u2019d make this throwing off happen. We are in the Quiet Car. My jaw clenches. Naomi is looking up at me. I have seen this look before when I have yelled\u2014like a skittish dog and as if she doesn\u2019t know me. Am I acting to protect her? She is pregnant. She is carrying a child.  <\/span><\/p>\n

The conductor is a small man. He is no longer threatening me with Trenton. He is making a semantic argument: <\/span>You can say she\u2019s pregnant<\/span><\/i>, he says, <\/span>but you can\u2019t say that she\u2019s not standing<\/span><\/i>. I laugh. I am winning. <\/span>No<\/span><\/i>, I say, <\/span>I\u2019m saying she\u2019s pregnant and she\u2019s not standing<\/span><\/i>. We are in the Quiet Car. People are staring at me. I\u2019m staring at the conductor. The breath moves fast through the knot in his throat. My jaw clenches. He is a small man. I am winning. He shakes his head. He turns and sidles down the aisle. I have won. When he comes back, he will not look at me. I have won. Naomi is sitting. We are in the Quiet Car. She is pregnant. Early on. Was I acting to protect her? She is carrying a child. I have won. <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

GameStop<\/h4>\n

for Robert Wilson III<\/em><\/p>\n

The boy needs a present (he was
\nborn). And blocks from your boyhood,
\nyou pull in, stop your day to stand
\nin line, a shirt among other shirts.
\nIt\u2019s over quickly: they bluster in
\nand shout. Smooth motion:
\nyou wheel, thumb flicks, holster
\nunfastens, palm fits to grip. You
\nshout. They fire. You fire. They
\nfire and hit. They fire and hit. You
\nfall. You fire. You fire. You fire
\nand hit. No fall. They fire. Gone:
\nwhatever mutual hunger and dream
\ndivided you from them, pushed you
\nfrom that block to this corner
\nof the room. Gone: whatever son,
\nwhatever imperfect love led you
\nto this line. They bluster and shout.
\nThey fire. You fire. They fire and hit.
\nThey run. They run. You breathe. You
\nbreathe. Quickly. Hunger. Dream.
\nGone. Line. Stand. Line. Gone.
\nYou breathe. Quickly. Hunger.
\nGone. Son. Quickly. Stop. Gone.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

Crow\u2019s Head with Red Dahlias<\/h4>\n

Outside the white house\u2014low roof
\nand green shutters\u2014and peeling
\ngray barn where we will never live,
\na crow dug in the mud with its beak
\nand swallowed roots and tubers, whole.<\/p>\n

When I passed by again, black feathers
\nwere wind-scattered into the fence. Scarlet
\ndahlias grew through sockets of crow skull.
\nWe will never live there, or perhaps
\nonly for one night paling into morning,<\/p>\n

but for that fleeting (Red, Red, Red,
\nRed), I was alive and happy.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n
\n

Iain Haley Pollock is the author of <\/span>Spit Back a Boy<\/span><\/i>, winner of the 2010 Cave Canem Poetry Prize. He teaches English at Rye Country Day School in Rye, New York, and is on the poetry faculty at Pine Manor College’s Solstice MFA Program.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Tamir Rice | whatever wilderness contained there | GameStop | Crow\u2019s Head with Red Dahlias<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":319,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[23],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/275"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=275"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/275\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/319"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=275"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=275"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=275"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}