I.
She can’t speak, hasn’t worn her
dentures for months, but her mouth
moves in rotation, lips pressed, she begs
with her eyes, as if she can negotiate to stay
in this hospital bed, her eyes blue
as fire, the fire I see flicker from her stove,
where I smell cornbread pancakes, syrup
turning hot in the microwave. She grabs
my wrist, as if to root in my arm, plant
herself there, skin blotched and yellow, her
linoleum floor I’d sit on, where all
of us—her great-grandchildren were young
enough to climb onto the counter. I’d sit
there, ask, grandma, what is your name?
II.
I tell her she is an oak. She rests
in her hospital bed, her limbs are limp
linen. She reaches for me, grabs
my wrist. Ophelia Irene, I say
why don’t you go by Ophelia,
it sounds like blackberry cobbler,
but her name is Irene she says, fire
in her eyes swelling, hot fudge sundaes
we’d eat summer nights, grandma watching
us climb the tree rooted in her front yard.
III.
Ophelia sees ants crawling up the wall,
I say I see them too, squint my eyes, squiggle
outlines of little red bodies up in the roof. I want
to believe
I’ve seen Ophelia
running over the guardrail
into the orchard, braiding
the branches
of my baby sister’s hair,
I’ve seen Ophelia
flying away from this
room but her eyes keep her
planted, they are burning through
ant ridden walls burning through
IV.
Lend me your branch; you are the oak
I see along the highway, you are the root
I see blue, fire burning up toward the darkest
patch of sky. Lend me your hand, your arm,
weave through my veins. You are tree,
root, mother, matriarch—I will stretch
myself, contort my body until I am every
branch, bark, and bone, I am the dirt,
I am everything you burned through.
When I take flight, all life remains in
the soil, I will not beg to stay, grandma,
Ophelia
Call me
Irene.
JESSICA TURNEY was raised in Madera, California and graduated with her MFA in Poetry from Fresno State. She has been published in NELLE, A Sharp Piece of Awesome, and was a finalist in Frontier’s OPEN prize. She also received the Ernesto Trejo Poetry Prize from the Academy of American Poets. Jessica currently lives in Fresno with her partner and their two cats, Minerva and Zucchini.
