Prompt 207. "A" is for...
A bit of good news, back to school, & a poem by Roger Reeves
Hi friend,
I met with my transplant doctor earlier this week, and it was one of the best appointments I’ve had in a while. I got good biopsy results, which was a huge relief, as well as a chemo reprieve. The effects of these last couple rounds have been pretty debilitating, and my doctor thought it made sense for me to take a month off, to give my body a chance to heal and gain strength. It’s the longest break I’ve had since I started treatment again, and I’m elated.
I left New York the next day for my little farm house in the Delaware Valley with River, Jon, and two straw baskets of books and watercolors. This is my favorite time of year—that transitional moment of no longer summer, not yet fall. On my morning walks with River, it’s been cool enough to make me wish I’d brought a sweater, and some of the leaves are very slightly starting to change color. And yet, my garden is still in full bloom, and I’ve been spending the afternoons outside in the warm sun.
This season carries with it that distinctive back-to-school vibe, which always energizes me. Along with it is a renewed hopefulness about having more energy to do the things I love. When I got here, one of the first things I did was tidy up my potting shed-turned-writing shack, where I hope to spend a lot of time, whether sitting in my armchair with a book, or painting a new watercolor, or finally starting on an essay I’ve been mulling for months.
But for today, it’s not prose, but poetry I’m trying my hand at. Last week, Carmen shared a stunning poem with me—it’s by a brilliant poet-friend of hers named Roger Reeves, called “The Alphabet, for Naima.” As the title suggests, it’s an abecedarian, where each line begins with a letter of the alphabet. You might remember the form from elementary school, but here it’s put to a gorgeously sophisticated use: As his father dies, the speaker of the poem addresses his daughter, telling her about love and loss, braiding together beauty and hardship, considering the complicated legacies we leave behind.
As I read it, I found myself surprised, uplifted, sorrowful, and inspired. I was fascinated by how each letter took him in such different directions, and how the form allowed them all to coalesce into a resonant whole—but also by how he breaks form in surprising ways, then circles back to it. I kept finding myself thinking, “Wait a second—what’s he doing here? And how is this coming together?” Which is to say, it’s the kind of poem that made me want to write.
So today, with Roger’s permission, I’m sharing “The Alphabet, for Naima.” I hope you find it as moving as I do and that you’ll attempt your own abecedarian. I’d love to see it if you do!
Sending love,
Suleika
Prompt 207. “The Alphabet, for Naima” by Roger Reeves
from Best Barbarian (Norton, 2022). Shared with permission of the author.
A is for almost, arriving, my father’s death.
B is for bear, which he does and does not do.
C is for care and critics and leaving them to their caskets.
D is for damn, which your father does not give but must.
E, for empire—a thing to impale, kill, break
Breach. F is for farther along we’ll understand why
Fire greets us at every door and we’ve lost our way
In the sky. Now where, where should we turn?
G is for good, the shy speechless sound of fruit
Falling from its tree. Me, you, there in the woods
Watching the pines shatter shadow in the light
Wind. H is for horses in the high cotton,
The crack in their hooves carrying your grandfather
And your grandfather’s grandfather down the hill
Until two stomps on the barn floor orphans them
Again, dust, dust. I is for in, as in in the blood we bear
All sorts of madness but bear, bear we must.
J is for jaundiced, which you never were.
K is for keep. Keep your wilderness wild, your caves neat.
L is lift and lymph, the node they cut
From beneath your grandfather’s arm.
M is for misery, which turns and breaks in
Though I wish it would not. Leaf
Leaning on a pond. Blood on a sock.
N is for nature and nearly and how I’ve come
To love; nearly, nearly I come to you, my falcon
Hood pulled tight; my talons tucked; Lord,
Let me not touch. O is for out and the owl
You say sits on your nose. P is for please
As in “Please, son, don’t visit me”
And yet I visited and did not please, and he would not
Touch your leaf, afraid his rot would
Make the petals fall. A lovely love—
No, not at all. Q is for quince, its yellow-breasted
Bell knocking against my father’s deathbed
Window, the light, the light too on his dying
Bed, what you opened your mouth to and tried
To swallow. R is for road where we lay,
Sometimes, because we wish not to exist
And wish and wish and wish. And must.
S is for…
Your prompt for the week:
An abecedarian is a poetic form where the first letter of each line or stanza follows sequentially through the alphabet. In “The Alphabet, for Naima,” Reeves invokes this form to explore love and loss and to bridge time and space and generations.
After reading the poem, reflect on a pivotal moment—maybe loss, maybe new life—and use the abecedarian form to share that memory with a loved one. Allow the letters of the alphabet to take you where they will, to gather the varied strains of human experience into one resonant song.
If you’d like, you can post your response in the comments below, in our Facebook group, or on Instagram by tagging @theisolationjournals.
Today’s Contributor
Roger Reeves is the author of two books of poetry, most recently Best Barbarian, which the poet Terrance Hayes called “a monumental and elegiac tour de force” that is “peerless and unprecedented.” An associate professor of poetry at the University of Texas, Austin, Reeves is the recipient of a Whiting Award and a Pushcart Prize, as well as fellowships from Cave Canem, the National Endowment for the Arts, the Poetry Foundation, and Princeton University. You can get your copy of Best Barbarian here.
For more paid subscriber benefits see—
On Matters of Life and Death, a video replay of our Studio Visit with the iconic American poet Marie Howe
Haunted by Heartbreak, an installment of Dear Susu where I write about lost love and the myth of “moving on”
On Water as Blessing, our notes from the last meeting of the Hatch, where we pondered moments of insight
Prompt 207. "A" is for...
Amy I lost you to COVID two years ago
Brother in law made the call to me saying “Amy is dead!”
Couldn’t catch my breath from the shock!
Died you died and I used to say to you “if you don’t take better care of yourself “I’ll kill you” and we laughed
Enormous grief and despair on losing my safe harbor
Family never loved and appreciated you like we showed one another
God ain’t helping right now
How can I go on without you?
Idiots we are sometimes the way we tell someone the news of a loved one’s death!
Jews we both are but what does this have to do with the shock of your death? Maybe nothing.
Kite flying I love because of its freedom and now you are free from your pained body
Love between us Is bigger than I could ever imagined
Miss you daily and will miss you ‘till the day I die.
No! don’t tell me grief will pass because it’s always there but maybe just a wee bit easier to have as a resident in my body and soul.
“Open your mouth and tell me how you really feel instead of sitting on the fence.
Pretty you never felt until I gave you a birthday gift at a makeup fest at Sephora and the picture you sent to me after “you felt pretty “
Queen like you never felt until you opened your mouth and shared your beautiful voice in song
Rich and deep was our friendship filled with complications
Soul sister there’s no one like you and their will never be
Time goes by and I still miss you and I always will
Ups and down in our friendship but anything worthwhile you hang in there and work it out and we did!
Visiting your grave I will never do because I speak to you daily
Writing this way I feel like I’m a virgin in unknown territory
XYZ don’t matter to me because I’ve said it all! “I love you dear Amy”
A treasure of such
Beautiful news
Caught my heart from our
Dearest Suleika this morning
Eager for more,
For more
Giving us much
Happiness.
In this time of Nature's transition.
Joy of Suleika's wonderful news
Kindness..kindred souls
Loving hearts
More , more, more to come
News. Such wonderful news
Open heartedness
Please please please. More great news for our beloved Suleika
Quietude. Paves the wave for such beauty
Rest. Respite. To a place of rejoice
SULEIKA. OUR BELOVED SUKEIKA
Treasure. Today's treasure
Undulating joy
Very very very happy for Suleika's news
Wonders. The wonders of the moment.
Xylophone. Let's all play our xylophones in celebration.
You, yours, ours. Together
Zebra. Suleika. I was reminded of the zebra in one of your gorgeous paintings.
Or was that just my dream
With much love and gratitude to you, Dearest Suleika, Roger and Carmen for today.