Reflections of a Feral Mother Reviewed

My Review of a New Poetry Book

Geese photographed at Reflection Riding (renamed Reflection Riding Arboretum and Nature Center) by Ray Zimmerman, early 1990s.

Reflections of a Feral Mother: A Brief Review

Congratulations to Cynthia Robinson Young on the release of her recent book, Reflections of a Feral Mother. Her poems exist at the intersection of hopeful children and celebrated ancestors. Those ancestors suffered the exploitation of slavery, Jim Crow Laws, and, in some cases, violent deaths. The stories are told through a mother’s voice, strong enough to weave in her joy and sadness.

Young begins her collection with a poem about a son’s birth and memories of her mother. She quickly moves into stories of her childhood and growth. In “Not Just to Have the Bluest Eye,” (title after Toni Morrison and credited by the author), she relates the experience of a young woman after growing to maturity.

And fifty years later, when her hue was finally celebrated
when she could feel free to wear color unashamed
of what it might magnify, when she could
feel free being the color
of dark roast coffee, no cream,
she now saw herself as too old to be seen, rated,
elevated and treasured...

Cousins, brothers, parents, sons, and the author’s persona populate this book. Joys are there, and also suffering. This family history is an excellent successor to Young’s previous book, Migrations. Reflections of a Feral Mother is available from Walnut Street Publishing.

https://walnutstreetpublishing.com/product/reflections-of-a-feral-mother/

A wild visitor among the semi-domestic Canada Geese at Reflection Riding, early 1990s. My photos from that era are 35 mm color slides. Thanks to North Light Imaging of Chattanooga, Tennessee, for an excellent digitization of several slides.

Here are a few of my own Haiku and a Tanka, composed this week.

Bullfrog with six legs
Must have eaten a smaller frog
Only legs remain

Bears in the Smokies
Awaken for the tourists
Better left unfed

The coyote’s howls
Remind me of distant campsites
A woodland morning

The lion arrives
Shortly after my breakfast
Mewling for a fish

My vision is weak
Hearing is not much better
Sunrise birds still sing

Landscapers advise
Don’t plant ornamental trees
If living near deer

A Tanka

Listen to the rain
It taps on my window glass
Like horses hooves
Insistent as beavers’ teeth
Strong enough to take down trees