Catherine offered the Inklings this month’s challenge, choosing from the June challenges of Audrey Gidman:
Read “Digging” by Seamus Heaney. Think about something that has been handed down to you—from a parent, a grandparent, an elder in your life—that feels alive in you now. Think of how it is the same and think of how it has transformed in you. Notice how, for Heaney, it’s gardening and writing—two kinds of digging, but still the digging continues through the generations. Write a poem that digs into what was handed down to you and examines what you carry now.
What was handed down to me? Scissors. Fine fabric shears still in the box, pinking shears, at least four pairs of embroidery scissors of various sizes along with three pairs of antique crane scissors, two pairs of children’s safety scissors including one pair shaped like an elephant, a miniature pair of scissors, the orange-handled Fiskars I received when I began sewing, and the round-tipped baby’s fingernail scissors from her bathroom vanity drawer.
So my “digging” became cutting. Cutting away, layer by layer. Snipping, slicing, shredding, clipping.
The title for this poem came from a post by Jill Badonsky on Substack. And the (surprise to me) ending arrived when I studied a diagram of the parts of scissors.
Here are the other Inklings, who may or may not have had the bandwidth to meet this month’s challenge, what with travel and other assorted summer joys.
Catherine @Reading to the Core
Heidi @my juicy little universe
Linda @A Word Edgewise
Margaret @Reflections on the Teche
Molly @Nix the Comfort Zone
Michelle has this week’s Poetry Friday roundup at More Art 4 All.
A(nother) Year of Reading 
Mary Lee, I was touched by the tenderness of your ending. The word wing represented a significant person in your life that you did not mention but I knew who were speaking of. Your work was beautifully formatted.
PS: My mother left me her special scissors, sewing kit, threads, and buttons. I think many women from the early part of 20th century had scissors and other items that were part of life.I cherish the memories of my mother and Nonnie quietly working.
Have a happy 4th of July.
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I love every bit of this post, Mary Lee. Your drawings, the quote on the page, aptly altered, not to mention your heart-felt poem. “I hear her voice…” is especially poignant. Aren’t we lucky to have these objects that help us hold our loved ones close?
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Your drawings and words are so poignant, Mary Lee. Thank you. I especially love the word placement/spacing in your poem. Thank you.
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ooooh! Such good art to illustrate this poem. You amaze me! These lines: “two-faced word cleave” and, “her wings…with every snip…hold her close.” Just stunning. The spaces in your poem, too. They give me space to take a breath and soak in your words but remember some special times with my grandmother who taught me to sew because my expert seamstress, and left-handed, mother had a tough time teaching her offspring. What a great response to this prompt!
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Ah, the wings, yes, the wings! Love the illustration, too. Your bravery is an inspiration.
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Powerful and tender poem Mary Lee, with many testing lines, “hold me tight/cut me loose,” and “double bladed lever.” Then closing with swathing wings that hold you close, thanks.
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Mary Lee, I hadn’t thought of the beautiful wing shape in a pair of scissors and love how it becomes the heartfelt tribute in your poem. I’m just back from the beach, and the “digging” prompt intrigues me. Just have to see if I have the bandwidth too, lol:)
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The drawings, your poems, the fruits of your dig … all so beautiful, Mary Lee.
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Dear Mary Lee, this poem cleaves my heart. Brilliant! xo
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Mary Lee, it’s so special how you’ve brought those pieces together from your mother’s gift of scissors, using their pieces to make the story loving, and whole. I do have scissors, from my mom and one grandmother, know they used their magic for quilts. Thanks for your memories, bringing them to my own.
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Stunning, Mary Lee! The illustrations and the poem. ❤
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Love those! Elephants! And love the word cleave, I love a good contronym in a poem; the weight of it falls perfectly. I’m slowly starting my own collection of scissors (and gently removing the ones Himself takes from the craft box and sets by the sewing machine…).
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I love that you inherited sewing scissors of all types, Mary Lee. I’ve never seen a pair shaped like an elephant in the middle. My grandma was a seamstress and I have some of her scissors. The challenge was deep – you did a great job weaving all the elements of cutting parts and sewing them together in your poem. It touched me. Thanks.
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Wow, Mary Lee – you certainly used some bandwith on this poem. It’s beautiful. So many layers (another sewing/cutting image!)…. Thank you for sharing. Did you write the poem after drawing these scissors? For me, drawing something makes it so much more real than just observing it. Your words are very real! Love it all. {{hugs}}
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The drawing came first! It definitely helped me think. I also used my hardback Roget’s to browse various synonyms and phrases.
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Aha! I suspected so… ;0) And I do love a hardback Roget’s. Wonderful drawing, wonderful poem.
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Love the drawing and the words, Mary Lee. How special you have those scissors. I love when I have special things that I know a loved one has held and used. It always brings them back…
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Yout poem is testimony to the the saying -ideas exist in things. To that we must add memories. Such great excavation, Mary Lee.
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Mary Lee, this is truly beautiful. My brother and I still joke with our mom about her scissors for sewing were off limits. You have captured so much in so few words.
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Well, I wish I had read this before I saw you last night, so that I could wonder and exclaim at what you’ve done with the diagram and your sketches in the poem. That elephant pair is definitely waking up a memory of something similar! Your middle, italicized stanza….this is perfection!
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