I was inspired by an Ethical ELA prompt to try a golden hinge, a spin-off of the golden shovel.
golden hinge: a form in which a borrowed line can be read horizontally as the first line of the poem as well as vertically down the left spine, as the first words of each line.
The Nevermores have been reading Ada Limon’s 2024 compilation YOU ARE HERE: Poetry in the Natural World. So I chose a poem and a borrowed line from Traci Brimhall’s “Mouth of the Canyon.”
Mouth of the Canyon
And still everywhere the little lives ––
stars of flowers brightening the moss,
ants pilgriming the road, an orange
and brown butterfly (such a common
fritillary) avoiding the wind in the yucca.
I love the big beauties too––the dark
rain veil making a bride of the mountain.
Does this ever happen to you? I glossed over the title and immediately became immersed in Brimhall’s ode to the natural beauty all around her––a dark rain veil, prescribed fire, wheeling vultures, shy juniper. As I read the poem, I recognized that same wind under my shirt, that same dizziness of height. Surely, I thought, we must be at the rim of the Grand Canyon! And there it was in the title (insert emoji facepalm here).
So I chose her first line. For clarity’s sake, I’m reading/writing “little lives” as a noun-verb.
You see, my mom died two weeks ago on Easter Sunday. My heart naturally reads this line as a statement of life in the face of death.
When I turned forty, my mom and I planted daffodil bulbs all over our Tahoe property. For years, before I could ever visit in spring, she would drive up here and take pictures of the blooms and mail them to me. I am here this year, seeing them for the first time in person.
She is Risen
And still everywhere the little lives,
still bulbs bearing winter’s weight
–everywhere, nowhere, somewhere–
the seed wakens; re-members sun to soil.
Little do we know the stem’s strength. It
lives in us, too–– yearning to be whole.
*And still everywhere the little lives
taken from “Mouth of the Canyon,” by Traci Brimhill
Would you like to try a golden hinge? I’m hosting Poetry Friday on May 15th. I plan to write another golden hinge from another favorite line in this same poem: Let’s go be alive like that.
If you don’t have anything planned for that week, I invite you to write to it, too!
THIS WEEK:
Join us for Poetry Friday, hosted by Irene Latham,
who is celebrating her latest book,
SOME STARRY NIGHT!
Next week – 5/1 –
Rose Cappelli and I have swapped dates.
You will find the links on Imagine the Possibilities.
Patricia Franz writes picture books and poetry. She believes children, dogs, and sourdough have a lot to teach us about life, joy, and wonder. She has raised two boys, four dogs, and holds a master’s degree in Theology with a focus on children’s spirituality. Patricia, her husband, her Bernese Mountain dog, Bonny, and her sourdough starter split their time between the Arizona desert and the Sierra Nevada mountains. 
Beautiful memory you will have for always 🤩
So sorry to hear about your Mom. Thanks for your moving poem of hope and rejuvenation.
Thank you for the poetry invitation, and I’m so sorry for your loss.
What a beautiful tribute – little lives. I do think those daffs are a lovely, hopeful statement of eternal life in their own way. May the earth continue to give back for the work the two of you put into that garden.
Beautiful hinge, Patricia, as well as a touching story about the daffodils. Hope you are finding peace in the mountains.
The daffodils and seeing them this year–tears! I’m sending you big hugs and lots of love!
Patricia, this poem and this memory of your mom and how life goes on, memory goes on, the daffodils come back..so, so bittersweet and lovely. thank you! Sending hugs as you continue to move through grief. xo
Oh, Patricia! This poem is fabulous…not only for the very tender and special memories of your Mom, but also for how expertly the golden hinge is written. I loved that prompt from Ethical ELA — I plan to write more of these. The surprising title, “She” is Risen is wonderful. I just want to oooze praise on this poem all day. It’s wonderful. I’m so glad I woke up to reading it this Saturday morning.
Oh, Patricia, I’m so sorry about the loss of your mom. Big hugs and lots of sympathy.
Your poem is poignant and beautiful and inspiring (in its expression and in the construction.)
And that you are seeing the daffodils for the first time in person *this* year? Ohmygosh, ohmygosh.
It’s beautiful to think of your mom making sure you saw the daffodils. “Bearing winter’s weight”– lovely. I’m sorry for your loss, Patricia.
This is a poem I’ll copy in my notebook as a mentor text. It is SO beautiful and true. So universal and yet so personal. I’ll never look at my daffodils (or any of the other perennials that are bravely, predictably returning) the same way. “re-members,” “stem’s strength,” “yearning to be whole.”
Condolences to you and your family. So hard to experience loss in a season of rebirth…or maybe not.
Patricia, thank you for sharing the poem by Traci Brimhall. It’s beautiful, and yours with the “And still everywhere the little lives…” Thinking of your mother risen and healthy now. And many condolences to you in your loss at this time. Thank you for the Golden Hinge invitation!
Patricia, this is a poem that not only showcases feelings but deep-down inside pieces of grief that are trying to be whole and hopeful. It reminds of the two last words in the Progressive Poem: transform and restore. Would you consider placing your photo and poem into my Spring Seeds Grace April for a spiritual lift of faith?