Bry Meister
In Honor of Bradstreet I. The crisp pages and smooth lines of print belong to you, who has labored and worried. You have pushed and pulled, forging lines of silver and gold, mining amethyst and quartz, to create a kaleidoscope of language. Your mind strums a note which is followed by another, another, another, until an orchestra finds the rhythm, pulsing with the heartbeat of your firstborn. II. They claim to have done so in your honor, exposing the naked form of your child to the frost and hellfire of the world’s view, and you think of the repercussions. What would your husband say? What would the pastor think? The men watch you hang the laundry, your back to them, knowing your innermost thoughts have been placed at their feet. Do they understand what it is to nurse the baby? III. Read it yourself – examine each word, run your finger along the print, and feel the phrases bubble in your bloodstream. 73
