Skip to main content

I wore the ocean in the shape of a girl by Kelle Groom

I Wore the Ocean in the Shape of a Girl: A MemoirKelle Groom is the author of 3 poetry collections in addition to this memoir.  Five Kingdoms released in 2010,Luckily (2006) and Underwater City 2004. but before reaching  sucess in the literary world she
had alot of personal demons to fight and conquer first.   In the memoir we go back to 1982 when the author
is a  a pregnant teenager living with her parents.  She is unable to raise the child in spite of the support she
received from her mother who was a teacher at the time and her father who was in the military.  So she will make  what will turn out to be a one of the most difficult decisions in her life by giving her son, Tommy up for adoption to her aunt and uncle.  Fourteen months later she loses him again to  cancer. It's here that we witness
the not so slow  fall into alcoholism as her means of coping with the loss.Even though the author did foreshadow her recovery I have never wanted to see someone recover so badly!  The benefit to reading a memoir  written by a poet is their skillful use of imagery. I felt like I was there with her every step of the way.  It's usually the use of metaphors, etc.. that sets this apart from celebrity memoirs.  The only drawback is the creative license the author sometimes uses that makes it a little incoherent from time to time but still a pretty good read I am giving it 4 stars out of 5.

FTC DISCLOSURE: I would like to thank Free Press(Simon and Schuster) for allowing me the opportunity to review this book, which I don't receive money to do and yes I am a Amazon Associate.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Poem: In Texas Grass by Quincy Troupe

All along the rail
                                road tracks of texas
                               old train cars lay
                               rusted &overturned
                              like new african governments
                             long forgotten by the people
                              who built & rode them
                                till they couldn't run no more,
                              they remind me of old race horses
                             who've been put out to pasture
                            amongst the weeds
                            rain sleet &snow
                            till they die,rot away
                            like photos fading
                           in grandma's picture book,
                         of old black men in mississippi/texas
                         who sit on dilapidated porches,
                        that fall away
                       like dead man'…

The Speed of Belief by Tracy K Smith (poem)

I didn't want to wait on my knees
In a room made quiet by waiting. A room where we'd listen for the rise
Of breath, the burble in his throat. I didn't want the orchids or the trays
Of food meant to fortify that silence, Or to pray for him to stay or to go then
Finally toward that ecstatic light I didn't want to believe
What we believe in those rooms: That we are blessed, letting go,
Letting someone, anyone, Drag open the drapes and heave us Bak into our blinding, bright lives When your own sweet father died You woke before first light And ate half a plate of eggs and grits, And Drank a glass of milk. After  you'd left, I sat in your place And finished  the toast bits with jam And the cold eggs, the thick bacon Flanged in fat , savoring the taste. Then I slept, too young to know how narrow And grave the road before you seemed--- All the houses zipped tight , the night's Few clouds muddy as cold coffee. You stayed gone a week, and who were we Without your clean p…

My Arkansas by Maya Angelou

There is a deep brooding
                             in Arkansas
                            Old crimes like moss pend
                           from poplar trees.
                           The sullen earth
                           is much too
                          red for comfort.
                          Sunrise seems to hesitate
                           and in that second
                           lose its
                           incandescent aim,and
                          dusk no more shadows
                           than the noon.
                           The past is brighter yet.

                          Old hates and
                          ante-bellum lace,are rent
                          but not discarded.
                          Today is yet to come
                           in Arkansas.
                           it writhes. It writhes in awful brooding.