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I drew some zinnias and an eye crying because I feel like this poem is tender and sad at the same time. I also chose the blew background because this poem seems like it has a very cool tone to it, even though there are some hot, less-tender moments in it.

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"Wildly he crashes through elephant ears,
pleads in dusty zinnias,
while she in spite of crippling fat
pursues and corners him."

This poem is full of a lot of heavy images and I like this line because it seems to be the only line where there is a little relief in the tension. That could be because of the mention of what I now know are flowers, but I think it's a nice break in the tension that the poem leans into early in the poem.

"His tears are rainy weather
to woundlike memories"

This line is wildly devastating, but I think it is a really powerful and beautiful metaphor.

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I think the value of this poem is that it is a snapshot of the reality of people, specifically black people, in the past. Whipping was used as a form of control towards slaves and I think that the value of this poem is seeing that intimate pain that people endured. I also think that this poem is complicated because, at the end, it gives us an image of the woman who is doing the whipping. I am wondering what the value of this image is because it almost feels like we are supposed to have empathy for the woman instead of the boy. Either way, I think the value of this poem is to evoke empathy and understanding of the tense, intimate violence that occurred.

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I think that the speaker of this poem is likely a person of color, has experienced whipping himself, so he knows the violence that occurs. I still cannot discern if the act is happening to the speaker or if he is just bearing witness to it, but I think that the speaker is close to what is happening in the poem. I think that the speaker is very empathetic, has seen some education and understands the implications of whipping, but is overall frustrated at what is happening. I think that the speaker is trying to understand while also helping the reader understand what is happening and wants to let people into this violence so that there can be a greater sense of empathy for whoever is reading it.

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This poem, unforuntely, brings back some memories I have of abuse I endured as a child. I have this memory of this guy my mom was dating and he was just awful. It was obviously a totally different situation, but this is the memory it envokes. It's hard for me to get close to this memory like it was for me to get close to this poem. I actually don't even know why I chose this poem because I knew it would be hard for me to get close to. Maybe that's why I chose it? Maybe I wanted to get closer to the memory of the pain I've felt. Maybe this poem evokes a myriad of memories related to grief. I think that this poem brings a lot of grief to the forefront of my memory, while at the same time reminds me that I survive all of the trauma I've endured, just like the boy in the poem survived.

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This poem is full of images. Specifically, the beginning. There is an intense image that appears of this boy getting whipped by a woman. I imagine this boy being in a lot of pain. As the poem goes on, we see this image of a boy pleading, crying even. There are a lot of intense images that are borderline traumatic. I think this is what the author is trying to do, though. He wants to reader understand and envision the pain that whipping can have on a person.

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dusty zinnias /  crippling fat : while these two may seem unassuming, I think that the tension between this idea of flowers being present in such a "crippling" moment is really powerful and drive the poem forward.

I also think there is a tension at the beginning of the poem of the boy getting whipped and then the stick breaking near the end and then the release of tension when the women is against a tree and the boy is sobbing. I think this poem is full of tension. You are in the moment of the whipping, are going through it with the characters, and then are there to bear witness to the release at the end.

I think there is an interesting tension where the point of view seems to change. The poem begins like the speaker is watching but then mid-poem, the speaker says, "My head gripped in a bony vise" and I am curious as to why this change is there. Is the boy in the poem who is being whipped the speaker?

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There is no rhyme scheme in this poem. I counted all of the syllables and there didn't seem to be a pattern there either, so I can only assume this is free verse. Although I do think that it is intended that there are 6 quatrains.

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As stated in the repetitions section above, there is an echoing of the words "strike" and "it's over." I think that these two working in tandem with each other is really powerful and shows the movement in this poem. This poem isn't just staying in one place. I think that these two images echoing against each other leaves room and informs all of the other images and lines that are happening in this poem.

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There are a lot of 10-syllable lines, specifically two at the top of the first two stanzas. I think this is an interesting repetition.

In lines 9 and 10 there is a repetition and assonance of the letter "s." There is also a repetition of "strikes and strikes."

There is a repetition in line 19 where Hayden writes, "it is over now, it is over," almost to signify some reassurance that it's over. I think this repetition is essential in the poem.

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zinnias : an American plant of the daisy family, which is widely cultivated for its bright showy flowers.

shrilly : with a high-pitched and piercing voice or sound.

vise : a metal tool with movable jaws that are used to hold an object firmly in place while work is done on it, typically attached to a workbench.

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The old woman across the way
is whipping the boy again
and shouting to the neighborhood
her goodness and his wrongs.

Wildly he crashes through elephant ears,
pleads in dusty zinnias,
while she in spite of crippling fat
pursues and corners him.

She strikes and strikes the shrilly circling
boy till the stick breaks
in her hand. His tears are rainy weather
to woundlike memories:

My head gripped in bony vise

of knees, the writhing struggle

to wrench free, the blows, the fear
worse than blows that hateful

Words could bring, the face that I
no longer knew or loved . . .
Well, it is over now, it is over,
and the boy sobs in his room,

And the woman leans muttering against
a tree, exhausted, purged–
avenged in part for lifelong hidings
she has had to bear.