Tuesday, August 23, 2011

The Madre Bones by Amy Fetzer Larakers

The Madres Bones by Amy Fetzer Larakers is published by Dancing Girl Press and is a lively collection of poems that encompass the every day life of the suburbs to the whimsical lives of children finding adventure. The poems embrace the ordinary every day and the magical unknown. Amy Fetzer Larakers poems have appeared in blossombones and Near South, she has an MA in English from the University of Illinois at Chicago and lives in Wheaton, Illinois. Below I am happy to share a few poems:

It begins in Anise
and ends in Asheville

these things we call homes skins & plywood, insignificant fabric
minor tones that sing inside our heads. Paper bags filled
with artichoke, papaya a loud humming. The beginning was
small of failed namings forget-me-knots splashing
petals down our throats. The weeds grow in thicker
next to the highway a warning or a slow growing. Mornings
seem like ours, quiet quiet white nothings. We push strollers
loaded down with cans of black-eyed peas. The road keeps being
black. A strip of licorice. A long lonely taste.

This poem reminds me of suburbia. The poet gazes up and down her neighborhood for inspiration and writes what she sees and feels. I love the line “these things we call homes skins & plywood.” Skins could imply the outer layer of the building or the human element. The paper bags filled with fruits I picture on kitchen counter tops all through the neighborhood. The world outside is quiet save for the mothers pushing strollers “loaded down with cans of black-eyed peas” which makes me wonder if there is a nearby grocery or corner store? It’s a painting of words to me about the suburbs and I very much enjoyed it.

Heading South

Renegade the highway. We sprout iridescent fins, shedding
bones. Breathe.

Inching through back yards on pinched streets. Sheets on
gossamer grass, wings in our eyes.

Are we (you and I, them) real? Amid cumuli and trailer parks,
bee’s wax and post offices,

voices, blue as rain, fall on juniper branches. Can you feel the
cracks in the window leaking moon.

Skin of sycamore, white smell of weddings. I wrap my legs around
your bowed trunk.

The dogwoods have us dancing shapes. Rosepoint vines climb
up your inky ankle.

When the birds chirp “morning” it means lemons mounded round.
We walk paths bending into pine cones, forget our secrets.

Songs in B flat hopscotch the pavement. Cerulean crayons stain
glass. Whose fingers on my alabaster thigh.

The ending goes like this: we consume each other, reckless and
Lovely as springtime kudzu.

This poem is a kaleidoscope of sights, sounds, and smells in the midst of love-making in Spring time. I love the idea of back yards on pinched streets, as though the idea of hiding yourself in the folds of love was difficult in a small world, a small neighborhood. The trees and vines are earthy and are compared to the warm bodies intertwined showcasing the natural allure of love. The line that struck me hardest was “Are we (you and I, them) real?” because when love is intense it feels like a dream, and this is exactly the phrase for it. Ms. Larakers poem strikes all the right chords in this poem.


The river girls have legs as brown
as mud. They wear short shorts and eat
baked beans for breakfast. On the Ogle County
freeway, they gaze at the No Passing Zone,
imagine the beautiful yellow sign in their arms.
They smile as men in pick-ups drive by
and make trails in the cornstalks that lead
to each other. On their way home they stop
by the Rock River Christian Camp
and steal bibles from the chapel.

This is one of a series of poems about “the river girls.” This one makes me smile wide as I imagine a group of young friends traipsing far beyond the safety of their yards to the freeway, their mothers hardly knowing what antics their girls are up to. I especially love the fact that the girls return to steal bibles, it is portrayed in such a casual and innocent way, just like the girls themselves. It reminds me of my own young girlhood days of summers spent wandering far beyond where parents would know to look and of days of going to church groups (often against my will) and I think I would have liked to steal bibles as a way to rebel against the adults in my life. The entire series of river girls poems are wonderful, this one struck a particular memory of mine and so I chose to reveal this one in the series.

I hope you enjoy these poems as much as I do. To purchase a copy for yourself, The Madre Bones by Amy Fetzer Larakers is a mere $7.00, available by this link with the convenience of PayPal through Dancing Girl Press at:


To visit and learn more about Dancing Girl Press go to:


Thanks always for reading, please click in tomorrow for more Poems Found by Poet Hound…

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