A Reverse History of Learning
by Mike Oliphant
05.07.06:
The child folds her hands together, saying what she
knows of grace. First bite of meat, her teeth clack
cutlery—the new word like iron on her tongue.
01.13.06:
Even the dashboard flickers in this cold, mother whispers.
When the child breathes on the window, the glass reveals
the fact of air with its best impression of her heart.
09.30.05:
Where is the sky, mother asks. The child points everywhere,
hands starting over her head and tracing down, in an arc,
coming together below her waist to form a round window
through which she counts fifteen streetlights and one
battered stop sign. Mother kicks stones, whistling one note.
10.04.04:
It was orange always every night as sun set over the bay, mother
remembers. To the child the wind sounds like it says yes.
07.25.04:
Mother marks off years the child will never see her home
Now nine notches tall. Mother’s knife still sharp, still counting.
05.31.04
Colors are always the way you remember, mother instructs.
The child colors circle over circle. Tunnels across the page.
02.16.03:
Fresh brewed announcement wakes the child sharp
in the dark. Mother makes coffee when day’s impatient.
It’s time to let the light in, mother delights somewhere close.
04.03.02:
Mother writes, Air here chokes. Every backfire, gunshot shattered
window. Another way to say night is sky-without-sun. There’s no
other way to say land-without-sky, but now we try to call it home.
11.25.01:
Adults always ask the child questions. Is she smiley face?
Sad one? She doesn’t know why there’s no word for both.
Mother always stirs dinner to still it. She reads her book
aloud, so believe me when I say there’s only one angry god left.
12.20.00:
The first time the child climbs up onto the bus,
her mind opens, a swift wave of yellow humming.
She knows the right colors for stop and go, but
she doesn’t know the word for slow-hanging rain.
All she knows is how to ask, her small hand raised.
MIKE OLIPHANT received his MFA at Western Washington University. He is a Poetry Editor for Isthmus Review, as well as Psaltery & Lyre. He has been the recipient of Thin Air Magazine‘s 2018 Gas Station Prize and two Pushcart nominations, and was a finalist for Split Lip Magazine‘s 2018 Poetry Contest. His poetry and short fiction can be found in IDK Magazine, Shooter Literary Magazine, NANO Fiction, and elsewhere.