David Trinidad: Pick of the Week [ed. Terence Winch]

David Trinidad and his mother Joyce, graduation from junior high school, 1968. 

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Sonnet

The day she died, my mother divided

up her jewelry, placed each piece in Dixie

cups (on which my father had written, with

magic marker, the names of her children

and grandchildren): her aunt’s pearls, her mother-

in-law’s topaz and amethysts, her own

mother’s plain gold cross.  Earlier, I’d held

a mirror while she put on her lipstick

(Summer Punch) and ran a comb through what was

left of her hair.  She stared at the gray strands

in her hand—not with sadness, but as fact.

When she placed the last ring in the last cup,

she looked up at me and said, “We never

have enough time to enjoy our treasures.”

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David Trinidad is the author of more than a dozen books of poetry.  These include Swinging on a Star (Turtle Point Press, 2017), Notes on a Past Life (BlazeVOX [books], 2016), Peyton Place: A Haiku Soap Opera (Turtle Point, 2013), and Dear Prudence: New and Selected Poems (Turtle Point, 2011).  Digging to Wonderland is forthcoming from Turtle Point in 2022.  He is also the editor of A Fast Life: The Collected Poems of Tim Dlugos (Nightboat Books, 2011) and Punk Rock Is Cool for the End of the World: Poems and Notebooks of Ed Smith (Turtle Point, 2019).  Trinidad lives in Chicago, where he is a Professor of Creative Writing/Poetry at Columbia College. [See this link for more poems by David Trinidad.]

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David Trinidad by Billy Sullivan

Comments

[Grace Cavalieri]

Oh this stabs my heart with beauty and recognition.

[lally]

another perfect pick terence, david's poems always (for me) soothe and startle at the same time, no easy feat and much admired by this reader

[Terence Winch]

Thanks, mo chara. I knew you would like it.

[Diane Ward]

Thank you, David and Terence, for making my day. xxo

[Jack Skelley]

oh, man. Perf. I got choked up. Thank you David !!!!

[clarinda harriss]

I'm verlempt, as we Catholics say (!). My children and a smattering of my grandchild had pre-Mother's Day dinner chez moi last night; I gave them a packable few of the family treasures with great joy, cheating Time, as it were. Thanks, both of you, David, Terence.

[Terence Winch]

Glad you liked it, Diane.

[Terence Winch]

Thanks for the comment, Clarinda.

[Beth Joselow]

How very real, and full of life. Thanks to David for writing, and to Terence for choosing it for this day.

[Amy Gerstler]

This poem shines so brightly with love and grief and such a sharp recognition of evanescence.

[Eileen]

This poem touches my heart. I love it and love that you find such wonderful offerings. 💝

[Maureen Owen]

Sad, beautiful, and true. A heartfelt poem for Mother's Day.

[Terence Winch]

Glad you liked it, my dear sister.

[Terence Winch]

Beth---thanks for tuning in.

[David Lehman]

I'd also like to draw attention to David's smart line breaks, for example, splitting "Dixie" from "cups." Nice photo,too. (You haven't changed a bit, David.)

[Elinor Nauen]

oh such heart-breaking beauty. thank you David & Terence.

[Howard Bass]

Superb poem, so evocative, elegantly expressed.

[Terence Winch]

Elinor---thanks for the comment.

[Don Berger]

What a stunner this is. And I thought Elizabeth Bishop was provider of the greatest detail. David Trinidad shares the stage with her here, with a beautiful echo too, unintended I'm guessing, of Williams' great poem on his grandmother's last words. This is a poem to go back to and read more smoothly and with greater thrill each time. Glad to receive it, Terence, David.

[Terence Winch]

Don: thanks. Great comment.

[Peter Kearney]

David's mother wanted more time, but wasn't she indeed ready! In a sense, her treasures were gathered with her: her jewels and, even more, the thought of those who would receive them. The action with her lipstick and comb seem to express her admirable composure and acceptance.

[Dr. Earle Hitchner]

To state the obvious: Terence Winch's taste in verse by others is as spot-on as his own verse. This is a tender, quietly powerful portrait of a dying mother by her son, whose verbal gifts match the emotional value of his mother's jewelry. The details summoned by David Trinidad make perfect sense: We all tend to remember with almost disconcerting accuracy what matters in a moment like this one. It is more than memento mori. It is the intimate busyness of a mother's final business: parsing out gems and stating with stark simplicity that "we never / have enough time to enjoy our treasures." Of all the gems and gestures delineated in "Sonnet," that quote shines brightest. What a gift this poem is!

[Terence Winch]

Earle---thanks for another richly insightful comment.