Vessel - Parneshia Jones

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brush and missing front teeth.

      Jackson 5, Culture Club, Whitney Houston,

      Deniece Williams back up the deep-

      voiced, juke joint, Midwestern-raised

      Girl.

      Catfish, crab legs, and chitlins

      served on three-generation China.

      Great Lakes, mason jars, fried pies,

      and Mary Jane–wearing Girl.

      Stained glass Sundays, training wheels,

      wind, and a wide nose, thick plait, nappy back,

      dimple in each cheek Girl.

      Heiress of big legs, triple hip,

      raised eyebrow, silver dollars,

      dusty maps, and a diamond bracelet

      Papa gave the day you graduated

      eighth grade, and he said young lady

      but hugged you like his little

      Girl.

      The only daughter

      of an only daughter left;

      the keeper of ash and memory,

      curtsies and curiosity,

      Easter poems, skinned knees,

      polyester, silk, and calamity

      Girl

      stays close, superstitious,

      sassy and studied.

      Know better in your gathered years

      of woman, grown, change-filled

      coffee cans, kitten heels, cat calls,

      and collateral, Girl is forever.

      Let that Girl settle between new grays,

      laugh-out-loud lines, and the sand

      of her hourglass filling with fierce

      each newborn day.

      Girl stays forever.

       What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open.

      MURIEL RUKEYSER

      Parnassus [pα:næss]

       n

      1. a mountain in central Greece, just north of Delphi, that rises to a height of 8,064 feet (2,457 m). Held to be sacred by the ancient Greeks, it was associated with Apollo and the Muses and was regarded as a symbol of poetry. Greek name Parnassós.

      2. (Literature / Poetry)

      a. the world of poetry

      b. a centre of poetic or other creative activity

      3. (Literature / Poetry) a collection of verse or belles lettres

      Parneshia [par: knee: she a]

       n

      1. 1980—daughter of high school sweethearts (prom queen and football captain). Father,

      a Creole southern rolling stone, watches an old Greek movie, hears the word Parnassus. Father told it to Mother. Mother, first generation Northerner, couldn’t understand what Father was saying (Greek doesn’t roll easy off the Creole tongue). Mother shaped the word herself while baby moved about in her belly.

      2. (Woman / Poet)

      a. rooted in her Midwest, in her poetry

      b. growing up in Mama’s kitchen and stacks of dusty books

      3. (Woman / Poet) twenty years later, the Poet searches the definition of her name…who knew

      A philosopher asked, If you could have one super power what would it be?

      When I was a little girl,

      I spoke indigo—

      birthed with gills passed

      down from sea women.

      I spoke indigo in my dreams.

      My laughs and grandmother’s

      sweet water lullabies conjured waves.

      I spoke indigo in my prayers,

      praying for family and fins,

      hoping my knobby brown knees

      would morph into sienna scales

      with fins of fuchsia.

      I spoke indigo to my kin.

      My grandmother’s oceanic tongue

      whispered in my seashell ears

      our saltwater stories.

      I wish for those little girl

      sea lungs, pink as petals

      blooming in rain.

      I wish for the little girl

      who dreamed in aquamarine,

      the taste of a saltwater speech,

      the nautical native tongue

      speaking the language of the sea.

      During recess, Mary and I

      carved our names into the dirt.

      Mary,

      such an easy, whimsical name.

      Short.

      I like short.

      I watched Mary begin

      with a mighty-shouldered M,

      her angelic A, the R reaching

      for the Y I always wanted.

      MARY.

      Short and sweet.

      A name you never tire of writing.

      I never had it that easy.

      I could never find my name

      on those miniature license plates.

      No namesake characters on TV

      or Bibled in verse. No Parneshia

      had a little lamb.

       PARNE…

      Mary skipped around,

      already finished with her four letters.

      I was still on letter five of nine,

      tired by E,

      my arm aching the question,

      why this name? Why so long?

      Ask your mother, why such a riddle of a name?

       PARNESHI…

      Leaving off the final A,

      I stared at Mary’s crooked name

      sprawled in the dirt.

      Hey Mary, want to trade names?

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