We have nine stanzas, couplets and triplets mixed, and each one includes a close-up on the grandfather or grandmother’s body.
On page 11, the poem “Grandfather’s Hands” also really plays into one of Shire’s strengths: talking about/to the body. Shire builds a small narrative of rape and its consequences rolling out through time on the mother’s life in 16 lines. You were at school.” Then the second, “Your mother was sixteen when he first kissed her.” The third, “the friend laughed, mouth bloody with grapes,/ then plunged a hand between your mother’s legs.” And the final quatrain: “Last week, she saw him driving the number 18 bus” (8). The first is clear: “she remembers hearing this/ from your uncle, then going to your bedroom and lying/ down on the floor. For instance, in the second poem, “Your Mother’s First Kiss”, in four quatrains we move through four scenes, dislocated in time.
Though the chapbook is bookended by two very short poems, most of the pieces include distinct things happening to distinct characters in distinct places. Particularly, her poetry in this small chapbook is marked by a strong sense of narrative, clear scene work, fresh body imagery, and a thematic consistency around femininity.
This little chapbook feels solid, weighty, and Shire does a fine job of creating consistency in such a short amount of space. They are not struggling to find a voice, but are grounded firmly in their style and language. There is a real casual ease by which the poems in Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth present themselves.
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