“Ode To The Pacifiers”

Dear Reader,

 

A successful poem affects its readers. It refocuses inattention, spawns appreciation for molded rubber and plastic, and increases tenderness toward pacifiers dropped in a gutter to harden and crack, like the tenderness I felt for the pacifier I recently saw on the drive outside the Westminster Public Library. It was flawlessly pink and exposed to roadside grit, and I felt sorry–rather than disgust– for it. I wanted to rinse it under cool water then return it to the lonely little mouth that missed it. And what revised my attitude toward abandoned pacifiers?  

Michael J. Henry’s  poem “Ode To The Pacifiers.”

 

Do you want to read a little bit of it?

 

Comfort elixir, sleep-dozer, quiet-plug,

O how you have saved me,

O how you have buttoned and plugged

those grumpy weary O mouths,

O how you have waved sadnesses

away and made darkness for dreams.

Mam, Nuk, The First Years―3317,

molded in Austria, Germany, Taiwan, Philippines,

you are the juicy bait from which I catch

my babyfishes, pull them out of their ocean

of cry and fuss, gently drop them

into the hold in the hull of our house,

where they drift, the new cells

which I have half-made.…

 

What do you think?

 

To read the rest of this poem, go to page 76 of Michael’s new book No Stranger Than My Own (2008, Ghost Road Press). I’ll ask Micheal’s permission to post the whole poem.

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