James Ligon Price III Memorial Prize in Poetry, 2017

 

 

Iva makes dumplings.

 

Iva makes dumplings. Cracking two eggs from the family farm in Moravia, she mixes them to a floury paste. Kneading the dough she is comforted by the smell of activated yeast.

 

Iva makes dumplings. The regime fell in a revolution as smooth as velvet. Cracking two eggs from the family farm in Moravia she mixes them with a floury paste. Married, moved to Prague, had two children whose names were chosen from a government list. Eliška is drilled in pronouncing her letters. Kneading the dough she is comforted by the smell of activated yeast.

 

Iva makes dumplings. Animals must be fed, the house must be kept. There is always work to squelch the unattainable daydream of travel outside the Eastern Bloc. The regime fell in a revolution as smooth as velvet. Cracking two eggs she hums, mixes a floury paste with a wooden spoon clenched in a fist. The opposite arm holds the bowl like a fighting toddler. Her grandmother is better at this, stern faced and focused in her rural home. The dough is sticky. Married, moved to Prague, had two children whose names were chosen from a government list. Raise your children and cook for your husband. Eliška is drilled in pronouncing her letters. Iva wishes to be an opera singer. Kneading the dough she is comforted by the smell of activated yeast.

 

Iva makes dumplings. The waters of the Vltava are flowing, melodious, dancing through hill country coated green. Tom left the Eastern Bloc and noticed bananas. Budapest is a black market for chewing gum. Animals must be fed. The house must be kept. The wealthy are taken on a plane to a private beach in another country. Here, the horizon line mingles with barbed wire fence, skewing the sources of the sublime and fear. There is always work to squelch the unattainable daydream of travel outside the Eastern Bloc. The regime fell in a revolution as smooth as velvet. The dough is sticky. Cracking two eggs she hums: be a worker, and clenches a wooden spoon in a fist. The opposite arm holds the bowl like a fighting soldier as she beats the dough. Her grandmother is better at this, stern faced and focused in her rural home she runs her wooden spoon through the sticky dough and it’s tough. A woman under state socialism. Married, moved to Prague, had two children whose names were chosen from a government list. She is rolling the dough into cylinders, dropping them into a pot of boiling water. Eliška is watching, reaching for the dough. It is rare for Czechs to let strangers into their home, but Iva is different. She wishes to be an opera singer. Jan Palach burned himself alive for freedom and everyone smelled his skin burning on the main square. Jan Hus was burned at the stake. Radio Free Europe is buzzing through the airwaves. Iva feels guilty for being a stay at home mother. She should enter the workforce, she should become an opera singer, she must raise her children, cook for her husband, keep an orderly home. Everyone is named Jan and Jana and they all eat dumplings, hot for lunch. Kneading the dough they are comforted by the smell of activated yeast.

 

Iva makes dumplings. Serves them at the table with duck, giving cooked pieces of meat the pronoun her. She watches the family eat, comforted by the smell of activated yeast.

 

 

¹Czech for dumplings