NOT QUITE CHARLOTTE'S "RADIANT"

I've always loved the word "radiant." Blame Charlotte and that terrific web.

And "terrific," too. For the same reason.

But today's poem is not about a pig. It's about life and love and the hopes we have for our children. And it comes from Julianna Baggott, who not only writes great poetry, but books for kids (under the pen name N.E. Bode), too. AND novels for women as Bridget Asher. (LOVED "The Pretend Wife." Check it out!)

Anyhow, for Poetry Friday, meet Marie Curie and her daughter Irene. (Who knew? Another Irene!) Oh, that last line...

For more poems, The Drift Record has Round Up here.

Marie Curie Gives Advice to her
Daughter Irene Before her Wedding

I remember this moment--the pram distilled,
its sediment was an infant,
no longer something born from me,
not residue, not pitchblende,
but its own particle,
an open mouth, a cry,
within its head, a mind wrestling with thoughts
--my motherland could be there,
driven into the skull,
some ancient homing.
Years I have soaked
in radium.
I've begun to bleed light.
I see your father again
crossing streets in rain--
the doors are locked,
his umbrella fills with wind,
the horses approach,
hauling a wagon of soldier's uniforms--
something to dress the dead--
it's come to crush him.
My navy suit with solid stitching crushes me.
And since then I've begun to confuse
the glowing test tubes
with wicks of the moon, a dazing field of stars,
my own soul, and a moment goes by
when I forget the brutish charm of work.
My hope, daughter, is that
what you love doesn't come to kill you,
eye by eye, ear by ear, bone by radiant bone.

Julianna Baggott