Now, Somehow

Penelope Scambly Schott

My nana dwelt on the davenport

and ruled the world

where even the knives and forks

were afraid of those Sunday dinners.

Because no one had yet invented

forgiveness, memory functions

as fact: a child can die

of being the wrong person.

If I had owned my own wet mouth

I would have been screaming,

but instead,

I offered my small packet of silence

tightly wrapped in maidenhair fern,

in its narrow black stems.

Of course, that was back then.

Now, somehow, I’ve transformed into

that catfish who survived in a cooler

for four whole days.

When they came to knife out my guts,

I was still alive.

Penelope Scambly Schott’s most recent books are WAVING FLY SWATTERS AT ANGELS and God: A RESPECTFULLY DIVERGENT TESTAMENT. She is a past recipient of the Oregon Book Award for Poetry.