flume
she was so little and so red and my god
so loud and it escalated like an ambulance coming
closer and closer and every night
all night i tried
the four S’s – shush swaddle sway and swear, maybe?
plus i tried bouncing on the exercise ball
until my thighs grew lean and never trembled even on hour three of
bouncing and shushing and swearing (but only under my breath)
and then i discovered bon iver
for emma, forever ago
and she was just interested enough to pause
every so often with her small, wrinkled face and gaze
toward the tiny speaker where the noise seemed to live
and the songs grounded me to a world where songwriters
strummed and reverb was added just so and
vocals layered to achieve a chorus of something that felt like a sigh
wistful and full of wanting something i couldn’t quite name
and the music saved me
it is a cliché but
sometimes clichés are true and before bon iver
i could not find myself
in that nursery, night after night
swaying, shushing, crying because she would not nurse
would not soothe and it was very possibly all due to a
personal shortcoming
i was discovering in myself
my mother-ness
but suddenly there was this record that played
in the background and
the nights were still long but
i could sense the morning before it came
catching me curled up beside a shiny white crib
gray circles under my eyes
and ever since i have not been able to hear for emma,
forever ago until i told my daughter about it,
about the album, about the sigh, about the hope that breathed
slowly through the speakers and she asked to hear it
at 11:30 one night, curled in my bed next to me,
her daddy having whispered good night from a tour bus in
idaho she asked if we could listen to it
she is eight now, and taylor swift has captured her she
listens closely to words enveloped in music and so
we lay awake and listened
but when her tears came i worried
i had made her sad
i had been too much myself in this room
with my child but
she hugged me tight she said she wasn’t sad
i’m not sad mama i’m not sad, I promise
she whispered
it’s just that i think
i remember
this song
About the Author
Sara Beck is a singer/songwriter, poet, and an assistant professor of psychology. She got her PhD from Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee, and she currently lives in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia and teaches at Randolph College. Her musical output spans two decades and eight albums, including a children’s record. Her poetry has appeared in Rattle, Litmosphere, and Sunlight Press. Her favorite pastime is scribbling in notebooks while her children climb trees. Check out what she’s up to on Instagram (@saralynbeck).
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