Tipton Poetry Journal – Fall 2020
Norway, Left Behind Madelyn Camrud Weathered fence posts lean in the wind. Everything washed clean under cold aluminum skies. Trees grow from seed washed up. Try to imagine the love story: Grandmother crossed the ocean, seasick; came up from the ship’s belly, danced on the deck with an uncle; he pumped their arms up and down—shoes click-clacked to the rhythm of a fiddle. When the music stopped she leaned over the rail and let it go. That’s when Norway fell into the ocean—that’s where she left it and you know the ocean is deep.
Baptismal Dream Madelyn Camrud I’m the one who from the church balcony dumps buckets of water— possibly on purpose but I appear to mean no harm. I’m the one who anoints the heads of others and they’ve no idea where the water comes from; no one knows why they get wet, no one likes it; and I’m not the one to tell them. I’d be so difficult to forgive. From the church I know best, the choir loft where I sing and sit through sermons I don’t like I spoil things for people underneath. Have to say it gives me some degree of satisfaction. Sometimes I dump what I can on my best friend—even on the man I care about; and especially on the heads of people in the front pew, cranking their necks to look at us in the choir as if they believe we lord our high position over them.
Madelyn Camrud has lived all but nine months of her life in North Dakota. She completed her formal education in English and Visual art at the University of North Dakota. She received a Master’s degree in English with emphasis on creative writing in 1990. Having published three collections of poetry and a chapbook, she is nearing completion of a fourth collection entitled On The Way to Moon Island.
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