We tell the story every year—
how we peered from the windows, shades drawn—
though nothing really happened,
the charred grass now green again.
We peered from the windows, shades drawn,
at the cross trussed like a Christmas tree,
the charred grass still green. Then
we darkened our rooms, lit the hurricane lamps.
At the cross trussed like a Christmas tree,
a few men gathered, white as angels in their gowns.
We darkened our rooms and lit hurricane lamps,
the wicks trembling in their fonts of oil.
It seemed the angels had gathered, white men in their gowns.
When they were done, they left quietly. No one came.
The wicks trembled all night in their fonts of oil;
by morning the flames had all dimmed.
When they were done, the men left quietly. No one came.
Nothing really happened.
By morning all the flames had dimmed.
We tell the story every year.
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Hello Friends,
The former U.S. poet laureate Natasha Trethewey is a master at picking the perfect poetic form for her subject matter. The form above, wherein the 2nd and 4th lines of the preceding stanza become the 1st and 3rd lines of the next stanza, is called a pantoum — and it is absolutely perfect for conveying a haunting incident that gets told over and over again.
Sometimes the incidents that haunt us the most are those where "nothing really happened" — If this has happened to you, consider trying to write a pantoum about it.
Enjoy.
Ellen
P.S. Natasha Trethewey has also been featured for Meet Me in 811's Poem-A-Day April 29, 2014, Poem-A-Day April 18, 2010, and Poem-A-Day April 16, 2009.