Atkinson, Michael

United States, (b. 1962)

Teaching Pigs to Pray

  1. She’s washing last night’s dishes in the sink
  2. in slippers, housecoat.
  3. Looking out the morning-fed window at the street
  4. as the sun first strikes.
  5. Her husband, a car salesman, at work, two children,
  6. both boys, at school.
  7. On TV, an old black man on his farm in Bentonia,
  8. Mississippi.
  9. He is teaching his pigs to pray before they eat,
  10. telling us how.
  11. They only pause for a moment, naturally, before
  12. chowing down.
  13. Her hands are growing leathery around their thin
  14. bones and knuckles.
  15. She is turning over slowly, like a roast, an idea,
  16. a way of looking.
  17. She is imagining moving over land like a spirit
  18. moving over life.
  19. There is quiet with her, behind her, closer and
  20. warmer than men.
  21. The touch of sponge to wooden spoon brings on
  22. a shiver.
  23. There is a thing in her belly that closes
  24. on happiness.
  25. The being once a child is enough to lie to her
  26. about living.
  27. It is lying today, too, to her children, and nothing
  28. can be done.
  29. Her slouch helps her heavy breasts hang lower
  30. on her.
  31. She cannot kill and bury the dog like she thought
  32. of doing.
  33. Tell the boys it ran away; it wouldn’t change her,
  34. or anything, enough.
  35. She wants to seduce the telephone repairman when
  36. he comes instead.
  37. Or better, the young paperboy, who’d very likely
  38. tremble in it.
  39. A need is known, and echoed, but its seized
  40. clockwork is not.
  41. She remembers seeing at eight the primal scene,
  42. her parents joined, bucking.
  43. She thought then there is too much in life to ever
  44. see at one time.
  45. Seeing it all now, out the kitchen window, she wondered
  46. if she could leave.
  47. In that bed, her father was writhing, sensing
  48. something deeper.
  49. What that was has been a mystery, in different
  50. ways, ever since.
  51. Whatever it was meant to be, she could never find it,
  52. hold it in her hand.
  53. They sounded like a flat iron shutter slamming
  54. open in the rain.
  55. She begins to talk aloud, to her long dead mother,
  56. saying  mother, saying  please.

Editor’s Note:

You can view the documentary film that inspired this poem. Made in1978, it stars Mississippi farmer Tom Johnson who was born in the late 1800s. The film was made by William Ferris. See it here,https://youtu.be/EoFlvfpUmv4 or here, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EoFlvfpUmv4.

© Michael Atkinson. Willow Springs. #27, Winter (1991).

About the Poet:

Michael Atkinson, United States, (born 1962), is a poet, writer and film critic. Since 1997, Atkinson has taught at Long Island University as an Adjunct Professor of Film. Since 2017, he has served as editorial director of the online film school Smashcut.

His debut book of poetry is One Hundred Children Waiting for a Train (Word Works), and his poems have also appeared in a number of journals, including The Threepenny Review, Ontario Review, Chelsea, Michigan Quarterly Review, Prairie Schooner, Epoch, Seneca Review and others.

Atkinson writes regularly for The Village Voice, The New York Times, LA Weekly, Sight & Sound, TCM.com, Criterion Collection, Time Out New York and many other publications. He is author of seven books. [DES-01/22]

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