Poetry by Emmaline Bristow
How long has it been
since I lost the hay
in my hair? The gold
rough grasses fall out
over the years, shed
in the shower, clog
up the drain. Dad cleaned
the pipe, wrestled wire
coat-hangers to pull
slimy grass-hair up,
wadded in knots like
fresh horse dung.
Old horse dung dries back
to grass, cracks open,
carries in the wind.
Ants ride grass blades
like dandelions, visit
distant family
across the field in
that big debris city
piled high as my knees.
I used to weave
my braid in baskets,
weave sharp grass edges
to whip boys at school.
One tied my hair to a chair,
laughed when grass ripped.
I lost a good chunk that day.
Ms. Lindsay left the strands
knotted to the seat,
let them turn brown, cling
to kids’ clothes for weeks.
I lost hay in ballet,
the bun breaking each
blade under pressure.
The last bit I tried
to keep in college
between notebook pages. I
lost the notebook, searched
the horse dung, ant pile,
first-grade classroom. I
can’t tell what’s mine
and what’s the field’s.
Emmaline Bristow grew up in Helena, Montana and attended the University of Montana for her Bachelors in English with an emphasis in creative writing and literature. She also obtained her Masters of Fine Arts in poetry from Drew University. Emmaline’s writing centers around place and memory and how the two affect her identity. She has deep roots in Montana. Focusing on the motifs of dust and dirt, weathered materials (chipped paint, rust, etc.), as well as her own identity as a Montana woman, she has found a path in her writing that both excites and inspires her daily. When exploring memory, it is inherently linked to place, and that place, for Emmaline, has shown itself to at once be decaying before her eyes as well as living beneath her feet.
Arcturus 