Night Madre by Kay Reid

 

Kay Reid’s latest poetry collection Night Madre is a gorgeous panoply of astute, at once objective and yet emotional, observations, remembrances, despairs and hopes of a wise poet in the middle of her ninth decade. It begins with “Tattoos,” a sort of memoir of the body after a long life full of loves, battles and each of their scars that decorate the skin.

 

As I grow ancient,

let tattoos appear

all over my body.

I will consult them

for evidence of what I’ve been.

 

And the collection ends with Ballot Box, a plea for us to come together, which seems impossible to us now, but . . .

 

Here, no matter what positions we assume,

our faces are not far from each other.

We can muster some kind of friendship.

 

Perhaps my favorite piece is “Why I Like Bad Poetry,”

 

Basically, I’m a friend of mistakes.

They warm my heart

like fat white pancakes

and Folgers.

It’s safe to get out of bed knowing

another faultless day

of plain human error

expert self-deception

and helpless dishonesty

await me,

 

Ha. This is an example of the thread of sage humor that weaves throughout Night Madre, as well as the matter-of-factness of the poet’s voice that somehow brings comfort.

 

Poet, love,

            come with me tonight!

            No more blubbering.

            Just hold on hard!

–Leanne Grabel