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    The Curator's Notes
    The Curator's Notes
    The Curator's Notes
    Ebook84 pages25 minutes

    The Curator's Notes

    By Robin Rosen Chang

    ()

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    About this ebook

    A gorgeously deft book, The Curator's Notes dares to question the Edenic. It asks, why not take the knowledge at hand hanging like "plump, purple orbs...begging to be eaten..."? And what can we grow with states of paradise being ever fleeting? This curator is a custodian of both specific and collective heritage, connecting dau

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTerrapin Books
    Release dateNov 1, 2021
    ISBN9781947896383
    The Curator's Notes
    Author

    Robin Rosen Chang

    Robin Rosen Chang's poems have appeared in Michigan Quarterly Review, The Journal, North American Review, Cream City Review, The Cortland Review, Vinyl Poetry, and elsewhere. She has an MFA from the Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College. A native of Philadelphia, she has lived in different parts of the U.S. and overseas. She now lives in northern New Jersey where she is an adjunct professor of English as a second language at Kean University. An earlier version of this collection was named a finalist for Warren Wilson's 2018 Levis Alumni Award for a manuscript in progress. This is her debut full-length collection.

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      Book preview

      The Curator's Notes - Robin Rosen Chang

      My Mother Was Water

      She used to say they didn’t know how

      she got pregnant with me

      because my father was married to his work.

      I think about them,

      how he and his work might have dined together—

      my father in his blue and white polka-dotted bowtie

      across from work, a mess demanding,

      Look at me! I need you to do this now!—

      and where they would’ve slept, the space

      work took up in bed. But really, I knew

      my mother, so turbulent. She was

      water—a river, torrid,

      and trying to flow uphill,

      and he, a dam at the bottom

      imploring gravity—Pull down

      her wild current!

      I think I was a pebble between them,

      too light to lodge myself

      in the silt. I decided to be a fish,

      brown and speckled,

      to camouflage myself in mud and rocks.

      Refusing to swim

      upstream or downstream, I wondered

      about land—how hospitable it might be.

      I

      Lore

      Besides the eyes, I’ve always denied

      any similarity to my mother.

      But I too worry about birds, a lone egret

      standing at lake's edge,

      one leg buckled backwards.

      For flight, its wings beat

      only two times per second.

      I saw one preening its white feathers

      the day my mother died.

      If I could, I’d ask her

      why have a fifth child

      when you were out of love

      and had options.

      I knew I was a mistake.

      In nature, birds do what is necessary—

      most nurture the young,

      but some won’t feed the weak.

      Others push eggs from the nest.

      Shore Birds

      Motherless, Eve watched the shore birds,

      flocks of Red Knots in flight

      darkening the sky. She noticed

      their rust-colored bellies

      when they alighted and how

      they strutted up and down

      the Cape May beach, feeding

      on the small green and gray pearls

      of horseshoe crab eggs,

      not much larger than the grains of sand

      they were plunked into.

      But Eve didn’t know the birds

      would eat until they doubled in weight,

      then take off again or that nesting

      mothers would leave their young

      before the chicks could fly.

      She didn’t realize the low

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