Breathtaking.

These are poems I want to return to again and again. Always, the shock of the familiar - Here, the world "unbuttons its dress."

This is the book I bought after hearing Ellen Bass and Kevin Young read at the local Grand Valley State University Fall Arts Celebration event which took place on October 3. It was a good purchase and I am glad I own it as I will be going back and dipping into it again and again.

I love her poetry. For me it is very personal and warm and human. I realize that the persona in a poem is not necessarily the author but much of Bass's poetry seems like snippets from her own life or experiences.

Looking through the reviews a lot of people seem to concur with me and I also noticed quotes from a number of the same poems I like. But there were plenty of other poems in this collection that are, perhaps, less talked about but also resonated with me because of my own experiences.

The Last Week

I thought she would want to save me
from it, the stench and the shame,
but in the last week of dying,
my mother let me change her diaper,
let me wipe her with a warm, wet cloth
and slide the sheet under her hips,
the flesh softening, bones widening,
gravity pulling her back to earth like fallen fruit.
I need to say how precise she was.
She had a rage for order, my mother.
In the store she wrapped half-pints of cheap gin
with the same care she gave to Chivas Regal.
She smoothed the glossy holiday paper,
folding the torn edge under, sharpening
the crease with her thumbnail,
tucking the ends into a humble origami.
I thought she'd cling to her dignity
but she seemed to forgive her body,
all its chaos and collapse,
or maybe it was a final ripening of trust or love, abandon.
I'm not sure what to call it.

I like the lines,
."the flesh softening, bones widening,
gravity pulling her back to earth like fallen fruit."

and the later references to fruit again,
"she seemed to forgive her body,
all its chaos and collapse,
or maybe it was a final ripening of trust or love, abandon."

and the final poignant line,
I'm not sure what to call it.

What do you call it? I remember thinking similar thoughts during the months long deterioration of my mother's health in a nursing home and eventual passing away in the hospital. Dignity abandoned or maybe it just doesn't matter any more? It was hard to say. ( )

Simply brilliant poetry, spoke to me through the plain language and themes of love and the end of life. ( )