This poem by Sasha Wade was the Poem-A-Day from Poets.org. It’s called “Del Parto.”
I don’t know what carried me here
to Monterchi, perched above mountain bulges
shaped like the side-bellies of well-fed sheep.
Or why, when taken in
to view Piero’s fresco of the Madonna del Parto,
I feel like an intruder
walking in on a girl—tangled in teenhood—
loosening the buttons of her faded lapis robe.
Flanked by two boy-angels, she is heavy
with child, anchored in a tent of light-grey fur,
drapes the color of dried blood.
Her oval eyes, downcast, direct my gaze
to her right hand, hanging above a slit
of white cloth that covers from breast-bone
to navel. Her fingers are soft but gnarled,
perhaps from twisting and untwisting her hair
late at night. Does she believe no one
will notice the crooked fingers of her left hand
curled into hip, as if trying to hide
the fingernails’ insatiable need to fidget, pick?
Her hands pull me back to the pouty nineteen year-old
I once was: dressed in baggy denim cut-offs,
cream-colored peasant blouse, my fingers tapped
uncontrollably on invisible piano keys
lining my outer thighs. Walking home
I was petrified my mother—who knew I was too young
to be a mother—would notice my skin-glow,
feigned half-smile. Now, fifty years later, facing
the Madonna, I wonder how Piero knew
to mute most of the fear on her face
with shades of pearl. She looks serene
yet distracted—like when something
has already happened without announcing itself.
Like the low, faint hum of a hymn
that stays long after an angel leaves. Like the newfound
power she did not choose, but one that will be
hers forever after she is drained dry.
Today’s puzzle. How could you not love a puzzle that contains SNAUSAGES? The clue was “Meaty dog treats ‘in a blanket.’” Is it a portmanteau? If so, it’s one of my favorite portmanteaux. But what is the SN at the head coming from? — snuggles? snout? Snoopy? It may be snack, actually.
Speaking of those things, there was a bona fide one at 46A: “Portmanteau for evidence based solely on personal accounts.” ANECDATA. Good one!
I had to look up the plural of portmanteau. You can use either an “s” or “x.” The “x” seems classier. Does “plural” have a plural? (It’s already plural.) Of course it does: plurals. Or pluralx.
We were tipped off to the fun right off the bat at 1A where the clue was “What a comment might be made in.” The answer was JEST. (Rex’s first thought was “the comments section.”)
Another great clue/answer was at 49A: “Act of writing down whatever comes to mind in order to clear mental clutter.” BRAIN DUMP. (Ouch. Sounds a little like Owl Chatter.)
Commenter Barbara S. gave us a little history lesson in brain dumping:
“I’ve never heard the term BRAIN DUMP, but the clue [Act of writing down whatever comes to mind in order to clear mental clutter] sounds like automatic writing, a creative technique much beloved by the Dadaists and Surrealists. They didn’t view the product as mental clutter, however, but as the written manifestation of the unconscious mind, something they were always trying to access in order to bypass the learned, the rational and the socially normative. A passage that’s often quoted is from André Breton and Philippe Soupault’s The Magnetic Fields, 1919:
These grocery stores beautiful as our random successes compete with each other from floor to floor in the labyrinth. A guilty thought lays siege to salesmen’s foreheads. On a strip of whistling sky treacherous flies return to the seeds of sun.
“Passages of automatic writing are always head-scratchers, but their lack of conventional sense reflects the attempt to tap into the deepest recesses of the human psyche where dreams and nightmares and irrational impulses come from. And sometimes the imagery is quite arresting, such as the final sentence, above. The appearance of these movements during and immediately after WWI is no accident: supposed rationality got us to the biggest and most destructive conflict in human history – let’s scrap all that and try a new way of thinking and being.”
Speaking of dumpy brains, Trump’s sexy press sec’y Karoline Leavitt told Fox News that “[t]he Democrat (sic) Party’s main constituency are (sic) made up of Hamas terrorists, illegal aliens, and violent criminals.” Leaving aside our shock that she incorrectly said “are” instead of “is,” our question is in which category are we? Violent criminal I guess. But I’m such a wimp.
If it looks to you that there’s a small animal on her shoulder, there isn’t. Those “eyes” are the snaps or buttons on her collar.
Here’s how she was portrayed on South Park.
Some commentators opined that she may have loosened her wardrobe up a bit as a result. She definitely started wearing her cross less often.
OK, you’ve stared at that picture long enough. Max Scherzer has been a fave of ours since his days with the Gnats (including his Game 7 performance in the 2019 WS). And he was at it again last night pitching Toronto to their crucial win over Seattle. Here he is in the fifth inning explaining calmly to his manager John Schneider that he’s feeling fine and there’s no need to remove him.
Phil showed that clip to a friend of his who can read lips. He’s certain Max is saying: “DAM BURNED DOWN. GOAT.” It’s understandable that he’s upset if the dam burned down and his goat is in danger.
At 1D today, “Historic Émile Zola letter of 1898,” was J’ACCUSE!
Egs was able to add this little-known fact for us: “How Emile Zola relaxed: J’ACUZZI.”
Mike Greenwell passed away at the ridiculous age of 62. He played left field at Fenway for 12 years, literally in the footsteps of Williams, Yaz, and Rice. He fell in the category of players who are outstanding but land just outside of the Hall of Fame. He was robbed of the MVP in 1988 and was bitter about it. Greenwell hit .325 with 69 extra base hits, and 119 RBI that year. But he came in second to Jose Canseco who later admitted to steroid use. “Where’s my MVP?” Greenwell groused for good reason. Injuries slowed him down in his later years, but he finished with a lifetime batting average of .303.
Greenwell wrestled alligators and once captured one, taped its mouth shut, and placed it in a teammate’s locker. If you’re thinking there aren’t too many alligators in Boston, you are right! He undertook this prank during spring training in Florida, where they are as plentiful as dogs and cats.
On September 2, 1996, the Red Sox beat the Mariners 9–8 in 10 innings in Seattle, with Greenwell driving in all nine runs for the Sox, a record for most runs driven in by one player accounting for all of that team’s runs in a single game.
He is survived by his wife Tracy (a nurse), and their boys, Bo and Garrett.
Rest in peace, Mike.
See you tomorrow! And don’t forget to go to your local No Nudniks rally!
The Wellington Files 