Kiera Obbard: —m, a poetry manuscript

—m is the poetry manuscript I developed from April to July 2021 as part of my #writewithrupi project. The manuscript begins with an outline of the Workshop prompt, followed by the resulting poem and any associated images. You can read the associated reflections piece here.

*Content warning: addiction, alcohol, sexual violence.

prompt

The original prompt was to create a word map of words you associate with the word ‘sex’, with the word ‘sex’ in the middle. The prompt is then to write a poem about the topic in the middle without using any of the words in the word map.

I originally wrote this poem, using Kaur’s prompt, for another project but decided to include it here. I followed the rules of the prompt: Create a word map about your topic. Write about the topic without using any of those words.

what flows between us

hidden stories of violence

filter through blood

thinned by

generations of alcoholics

            shame passed down

            father to

            daughter

            an inheritance of patterns

            repeating wounds

            scabbing over

only to tear her children    a p a r t

i taste the memories with every sip of wine

                                          and wonder if i will be next.

how do you mend a broken bloodline when what flows between us runs generations deep?

---

prompt

Imagine you are standing in front of a lawn. Draw what you would look like if you were a house. Draw the first thing that comes to your mind. (I thought about my family home; the home that shaped and sheltered many of my formative years). It should reflect your inner world. Once the house is drawn, pretend you are a real estate agent showing people around this property. Meet them at the entrance of the property and in this poem, take them on a tour of the property.

Write the line “here lies…” at the top of the page. First, write about the outside of the house. Then, as you are writing, answer these questions: What is the first thing you notice? Are there neighbours? What does the doorbell sound like? What is the first thing people see when they walk in? How many rooms does this house have? What does it smell like? Is there food being cooked in the kitchen? What is your favourite part of the house? What would you want to change about this house? How do visitors feel when they leave the house?

house

here lies the remnants

of the home we once built

a foundation of happy memories

surrounded by

half friends

drywall and siding

holding back shame.

holding in pain.

the doorbell echoes down

hollow halls, reverberating

against the nothing. empty

inside. alone.

at the centre of the house lies

a chest filled with

empty bottles. secrets

we all keep.

nobody keeps the key.

---

prompt

If you were to write the story of your life until now, what would you title it, and why?

things unsaid

the family trunk sits in the basement collecting [____] like currency.

we stop at the [___] every other day, and don’t yet know this is strange.

at the checkout line, my father returns all the items in the cart. we have no [____] left for food.

hiding in our rooms, we hear our parents fighting. [____] looms on their lips. it hangs in the air.

it happens. we [_____].

we still visit the [____] every other day. she [____]. she cries. asks me not to let her. she [____] anyway.

[____] pile up on the counter. i take up some of the cleaning so nobody will know.

i tell no one. become the family trunk. collecting [_____] like currency.

---

prompt

The original prompt was to create a word map of words you associate with the word ‘sex’, putting the word ‘sex’ in the middle. The prompt is then to write a poem about the topic in the middle without using any of the words in the word map.

Because I am writing about my mother—and because I almost never write about sex—I selected a different topic to base my word map poem on but followed the general rules: Create a word map about your topic. Write about the topic without using any of those words.

detox

my hands shake as i dial the number. my grandmother is surprised to hear my voice.

she’s been lying

*

*

*

she needs help…

                 i don’t know what to do.

silence follows me like a dark cloud in the coming weeks. for the first time since high school i think about cutting myself. i dump my boyfriend who tells me to get over it. i get my first Bs. i stop eating anything that doesn’t come in chip form. i rarely sleep.

nobody is there.

           she     is       nowhere

puffy has become a permanent feature when i get the call.

it’s me, honey. i’m sober and staying with [blank].

relief pours from my eyes.

                she’s alive.

---

prompt

Write a list poem. The original prompt was to write a hopeful list poem of a list of things I can share with the world.

This was one of the first poems I wrote. I started by free writing a list of things I associated with the word ‘safe’—a prompt for another project that I did not continue—and came back to this poem and prompt during this project to revise to the poem below.

what safe feels like

when you grow up in chaos,

you never really learn

what safe feels like.

the fear of realizing your parents’ fights

won’t end. the shame of leaving home with your mother

while your father is out of town.

the pain of coming to recognize

your mother’s addiction.

it seeps into every interaction

until you’re losing friends because you

can’t risk inviting them over. using your

birthday money to pay for groceries. missing

a father who’s too hurt to be there.

you do everything and anything to keep the secret

overwhelmed with responsibilities and

lack of care you learn

to look for someone

who will look after you.

but you ignore the warning signs

and find yourself trusting the people

who hurt you the most.

the legacy of instability running

through your veins makes you an easy target.

it made her one, too.

that’s how, years after she got sober,

you wind up sitting in the spare bedroom

of her new boyfriend’s house

texting your brother.

he just –

don’t tell anyone.

---

prompt

Write a list poem. The original prompt was to write a hopeful list poem of a list of things I can share with the world. I used this prompt to write a first draft of this poem for a class project (see Reflections for more details), and I revisited the poem for this project. I chose to write about a darker topic (not a hopeful list poem) because I was in a darker place emotionally at the time of writing.

trauma

a sickness of the heart

            like a bruise, deep and

                                    purple and blue

it never goes away

a tenderness left inside you                 a constant dull throbbing ache that you feel

            through every pore

a jolt — an unknown memory. a smell, taste, touch or sound that moves you out of time and space.

the memory of every violent interaction

                                                                   manifest in your skin.

traces of alcohol and entitled men

                                    flowing through our bloodline            

splattered through                  dna

      unavoidable. a birth right. an inheritance           

                        a sickness of the heart

that runs in my family

---

prompt

Write a poem inspired by “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost. The prompt was to imagine you are at a fork in the road and write a poem about taking the road less travelled by. Kaur interjected at set intervals with certain words we were supposed to include. I adapted this prompt to co-write a poem with my mother (and abandoned the rest of the prompt).

two paths

she had a fire in her heart that burned

too bright. replaced it with

a fire in her belly

acidic, sick.

He had cancer of the tongue and throat.

They did some nasty surgery.

Within a year it came back.

***

she wanted out; wanted to

change. begged me to help

her; yelled at me

when i did

it turns into your life. you can’t escape.

you’re depressed so you drink

and the more you drink the worse you

feel and the more you drink until you feel

you have no choices left.

***

taking care of [_____] became

habit, second nature,

spilling energy into something

i could control; salvation.

I always felt totally alone. blamed for everything.

never good enough for anyone.

thirteen.

***

fifteen.

I often had to take money. lie just to survive. I had to protect [_____].

feed her, be there for her,

and reassure her things were ok.

***

i did everything and

anything to keep the secret.

It was one of his greatest regrets that he would never get to see my children.

***

she hit rock bottom. went away. somewhere

unknown. for some duration. no phone calls.

no visits. somewhere.

nowhere.

i didn’t know if i’d see her again.

I would like to be able to speak to my dad again.

he was intelligent, a great friend, wrote beautiful poetry.

he quit school to support his family, then the war came and

when it was over he had lost his place.

***

she was beautiful and capable

clawed her way back

from it;

strong.

alive.

He never had a chance to become what he should have been.

-Kiera Obbard and Shelley Lawson

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prompt

Write a three-part poem about the mind, the body, and the I (self). Title the poem “the making of me”. In the first stanza, think about: what is the mind saying to you? What has it been saying to you for some time now? In the second stanza, write about the I (self). Think about: How does your mind impact the I? How does it impact who you are? In the third stanza, think about: what is your body doing while all of this is happening? What does the body have to say?

the making of me

i worry that i am becoming her. am proud to become her. trace her footsteps with my mind. project myself into spaces she once inhabited. imagine: her, floating in front of me. leading me onward. visions of new paths converging. lives entangling. a web of possibilities. fading and stabilizing. loss and clarity. which thread to pull.

***

i have resisted motherhood;

            a career is safer

accomplishments, awards

            prove worth, give meaning

i am afraid.

***

ageing, ripening. you only have so many years left.

tired already. out of shape. no energy.

eggs decaying one month at a time.

stretch marks. greys. traces of growing without

any life to show. tick tock. selfish. alone.

you’ll regret it when you’re older. you’ll forget

the pain. the pain will be worth it. you’ve

never loved like this.

                        time is running out.

---

prompt

Write a letter to your mother. Each paragraph should focus on a different part of the body: eyes, hair, hands, spine, elbow, and legs. I followed the prompt and wrote about each part of the body, then I split up the sections and rearranged them in the following order.

• 

• 

dear mom, a poem letter

i.

you watch me from the kitchen, fingers pulling back

curtains that reveal

            a young girl, sticking her tongue out

            at a snake.

ii.

greys cut through my childhood vision—

            threaten with the truth: none of us last forever

iii.

heaviness settles in for a long journey. you do not pass it on.

iv.

you tell me he prefers the colour pink so

you paint it on every week;

i rescue the other colours to my home where they sit, discarded.

v.

            glossy, afraid

                        they tell a story of a heart long broken

vi.

i cry when you abandon the hair dye. run into the fields. scream. i thought we were twins. accuse you of abandoning me, too.

vii.

dinner time, summer heat. my touch sends signals that reverberate through your body. pain.

viii.

you develop spots where the sun has kissed your skin. bare arms and legs. expired sunscreen; an afterthought.

ix.

the curvature runs

left to right

            as if it got lost along the way

x.

you garden in the summer: tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers. you grow strong from the effort. count this as exercise.

the rabbits make off with some of your bounty.

i kill every plant i touch.

---

prompt

Write a spoken word poem consisting of five stanzas. At the top of the page, write down something that you’re struggling with right now. (I named my mother, given the topic of this project). This is the title. Each of the five stanzas began with a prompt. Start the first stanza with the words “we met…”. In the first stanza, describe where you met the title without naming or mentioning the title. In the second stanza, begin with the words “and here you are…”. Describe the title without naming or mentioning it. In the third stanza, begin by naming the title and speak to the struggle. Stanza four is the ‘take down’ stanza; describe exactly how you’re going to overcome this struggle. In the fifth stanza, describe how it feels now that you’ve overcome the struggle.    

mother

we met before i had entered the world,

my body growing in

yours, growing every day to

make room for me;

swollen feet and clementine cravings

my gift in exchange for life.

the girl you had hoped for.

and here you are, giving

body, blood, and soul to

nourish me, your life flowing through,

dark features mirrored in me; a replica,

destined for much of the same.

mother, did you hope for a better

life for me? did you dream of abandoning

the patterns passed down to you? struggle.

heartache. shame. rippling through

generations like a disease.

it brought me down for a while, too.

but patterns can be broken —

we can wake up every morning and choose differently,

tear down the walls that protect us and

keep us apart; we are not enemies

but each other’s salvation.

so let me take on the generations

of pain, soothe the burden we’ve all

come to carry;

your life flows through mine;

and i was born a healer.

---

prompt

Write a list poem of a list of realizations you have made, or things you have learned during the pandemic. Because I am writing about my mother, I wrote a list of realizations I’ve had about our relationship over the past year, in snippets.

a list of realizations

1 – a hand knit blanket

             no bathroom breaks   or snacks

it took you hours to create, now

            sits in my study

             so the cat doesn’t eat it.

2 – collingwood, 2018. we sneak away to spend time by ourselves. do nothing. together.

you are my best photographer.

3 – when i come home you see how bad it is. everything makes me cry. in between sleep i sit. exist. do nothing; want less. when you put food in front of me i devour it. see how hungry i am. nothing is enough. everything is too much. you hug me and i barely feel it. numb. stuck in quicksand; not moving makes it worse. sinking, floating. my autopilot is broken. frozen. abandon ship.

   you don’t know how to put this back together

4 – you tell me about my grandfather. he was a writer, too. if only the war hadn’t. if only he hadn’t. if only we could have met.

5 – we recognize each other’s pain and know it doesn’t define us.

6 – we’re pool ladies again. laughing. swimming. noodles and baby shark. floating in the sun. morning coffees by lounge chairs. happy. safe.

7 – you see me; i see, too.

---

prompt

If you were to write the story of your life until now, what would you title it and why? I had two ideas when first completing this prompt and decided to repeat it.

becoming

life: first interaction. presence precedes consciousness. love preceding breath.

vague snapshots come next: summertime, slides that land in kiddie pools, piles of fresh cut grass, raked up for jumping, running in circles as you slap sunscreen onto wriggling bodies; watching fireworks in the park, burning my hand on sparklers, too hot, tears, afraid; bedtime, three children snuggled into one bed, reading stories until we agree to sleep.

moving day; crying, sad, alone; new house; slipping into the pond; river dancing in the living room; happy, for a while.

fast forward: unhappy, crying, hidden chests, secrets, leaving, keep it secret, December 28, another house, another house, another house. no more wine, more wine, more wine, tequila, fajitas, beef stroganoff, losing friends. keep it secret. keep him safe.

divorce. detox.

letting go and letting —

forgiveness. 

understanding.

friendship.

---

prompt

Write a poem from the perspective of five of your body parts: heart, hands, belly, shoulders, and jaw. Because I am writing about my mother, I found it too difficult to write from the perspective of body parts. I adapted this prompt and wrote about these body parts in relation to my mother.

body

heart

led zeppelin. tie dye. loose fitting clothes. coffee. mars bars. cluttering. decluttering. barbecues. fizzy water. children: her children, teaching them, caring for them, helping them frow. building into a better world.

hands

her hands were built for crafting. transforming fabric scraps into quilts. bringing together the pieces that don’t quite fit. revealing beauty in the random.

belly

she scarfs down her food. fills her belly to the brim.

knows when to stop. fills it some more.

a habit leftover from training herself to eat again. when her

body was too sick. when all it wanted was something else.

                                                i get my eating habits from her.

shoulders

climbing too high, she slips, falls.

sits in the hospital for two days.

sick from the morphine.

            a dislocation; a break.

                        the worst he’s ever seen.

jaw

she points to a photograph of her mother,

recorded decades ago. this is when her jaw

line started to change. just like mine.

                        a warning?

maybe yours will be different.

-Kiera Obbard and Shelley Lawson

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prompt

Write a text message to someone who has been kind to or supportive of you. Write them a thank you text. Start with: “Hi [name,] I wanted to thank you for…”. Think about these questions: What did they do? How did it help you? How did it make you feel? What can you do for them?

hi.

…
hi mom. i wanted to thank you for saving me yourself. for
putting you first. choosing to live [and not just exist]. for
choosing it again every day. for not giving up [even though
it almost got us]. for showing me that we can break it [together].
it all started with [that]. but it all ended with you.  
…  
<3  

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prompt

Write a letter to someone. At the top of the page, write “dear (name)…”. On the first line, write “I’ve been dying to tell you…” and begin. At set intervals, Kaur interjected with 10 words to be worked into the poem: box, peanut, green, clock, fingernails, cotton, videos, blood, horses, envelope.

dear mom,

i’ve been dying to tell you that i forgive you.

our year of half-silence. months when i didn’t know if you were alive. all the fights and hard moments and the cliché sleepless nights. laid in a box labelled “things that got us here”.

these days i prefer to think of the mundane.

toast sliced diagonally with peanut butter spread thick to the edges. leaving the GT Boutique with more bags than we can carry. tie-dye shirts exploding with purple, blue, green. jellybeans. good & plenty. your old grandfather clock. ice cream for dinner. ice cream for breakfast. tracing your fingernails. matching patterned strips of cotton fabric. home videos. country chaos. catching Pokémon. squashing goombas. swatting mosquitoes filled with blood. smores around a fire. horses, donkeys, alpacas. weekends away. chip bags as mouths. hand-knit blankets that envelope you. video chats. drinking our morning coffee.

                        a safe space.

                                                            a happy place.

                                                                                                 i love you.

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Read the associated reflections piece here.

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Kiera Obbard is a PhD student in The School of English and Theatre Studies at the University of Guelph. Her current research project, The Instagram Effect: Contemporary Canadian Poetry Online examines the complex social, cultural, technological and economic conditions that have enabled the success of social media poetry in Canadian publishing. She is a Graduate Research Assistant for Canadians Read, a fellow at The Humanities Interdisciplinary Collaboration (THINC) Lab, and an editorial board member of the Centre for Media and Celebrity Studies and WaterHill Publishing.