Marina Hope Wilson
Marina Hope Wilson’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in journals such as The Massachusetts Review, Horse Less Review, Mulberry Literary, The Racket, and $. Her chapbook, Nighttime, was a finalist in the Black Lawrence Press Spring 2022 Black River Chapbook Competition. Marina lives in San Francisco with her partner, stepdaughter, and two cats, and makes her living as a speech-language therapist.
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Buying the Farm
They’re shooting early in the holler this morning. A stray bullet
could be the end of me. Or it could be carbon monoxide
poison from the wood burning stove in my cabin.
It could be a semi barreling down highway 40—
the driver drinking a coke with roasted peanuts
floating in the bottleneck, and me in the blind spot.
It could be the end of me. Tennessee could be my last state.
Today at the farm they will slaughter the small brown lamb.
I hope it will be swift. It will be the end of him.
I bless the sheep each time I walk by their pasture.
I bless the white dog, Inara, too. In the morning and at night,
especially at night, I reach through the metal rectangles and pet
the dog, her soft shaggy coat. Careful not to touch the electric line—
it could be the end of me. In the news it would say, “middle aged woman
found dead on a private road outside of Knoxville, near a field of sheep.”
Or maybe it wouldn’t say anything at all, but I would want it known
I was stroking a beautiful creature in the dark when I died.
Later today, I will bless the sheep, minus one. No, I will bless him too.
He who did not know this frigid morning, the winter slant of light he woke
into would be his last. He who bleated and munched hay from a giant stack,
and pushed his body against the other sheep bodies, unaware the curve of
his life would end here. Perhaps unaware of any curve at all. Bless him too.
could be the end of me. Or it could be carbon monoxide
poison from the wood burning stove in my cabin.
It could be a semi barreling down highway 40—
the driver drinking a coke with roasted peanuts
floating in the bottleneck, and me in the blind spot.
It could be the end of me. Tennessee could be my last state.
Today at the farm they will slaughter the small brown lamb.
I hope it will be swift. It will be the end of him.
I bless the sheep each time I walk by their pasture.
I bless the white dog, Inara, too. In the morning and at night,
especially at night, I reach through the metal rectangles and pet
the dog, her soft shaggy coat. Careful not to touch the electric line—
it could be the end of me. In the news it would say, “middle aged woman
found dead on a private road outside of Knoxville, near a field of sheep.”
Or maybe it wouldn’t say anything at all, but I would want it known
I was stroking a beautiful creature in the dark when I died.
Later today, I will bless the sheep, minus one. No, I will bless him too.
He who did not know this frigid morning, the winter slant of light he woke
into would be his last. He who bleated and munched hay from a giant stack,
and pushed his body against the other sheep bodies, unaware the curve of
his life would end here. Perhaps unaware of any curve at all. Bless him too.
Commentary
Marina on “Buying the Farm”:
I wrote “Buying the Farm” while at the Sundress Academy for the Arts, a working farm and writing residency in Knoxville, Tennessee. I spent my days intermittently walking the trails in the woods or sitting at a giant table in the communal kitchen, drinking coffee and writing. Evenings, I would take a short walk to my cabin, and make a fire to keep me warm through the night. I looked forward to visiting the sheep in their pasture, the chickens clucking away in their coop. A few days into my time there, I learned one of the sheep I’d been communing with would be slaughtered, and I had a visceral reaction to the news. I grew up on a small family farm in northern California and witnessed various animals being killed, or simply disappearing, only to show up unannounced in that night’s stew. I’ve lived most of my life as a vegetarian thanks to this childhood history. Some people are at peace with the agrarian cycle of life and death – but I’ve always rooted for the creature in question to live. I think “Buying the Farm” is my attempt to sit with the cycle. To hold my life and death and the sheep’s life and death with equal honesty and tenderness. And, for a moment, to hold every creature with this loving regard. Of course, I count people as creatures too.
In terms of form, I use the repetition, “it could be the end of me,” as a sort of frame to explore the various ways one can leave this life, as well as the seemingly endless moments one could have died, but instead moved carelessly through the day. The repetition provides a scaffold for this meditation on mortality. I wrote in long lines (somewhat unusual for me) because the long lines feel generous, and full of time and breath, and I hope for these sensations to exist in this poem.
Assistant Editor Matt Hsu on “Buying the Farm”:
In “Buying the Farm,” Marina Hope Wilson provides a numbing, yet oddly comforting perspective on a heavy topic. Immediately, the poem establishes a strong sense of setting, describing to the reader the rural town that this scene takes place in. The simplicity of the imagery is what makes it so effective; the “coke with roasted peanuts” and “wood burning stove” create a sense of silence that makes the subject matter of the poem all the more haunting. The speaker starts the poem by contemplating their own death, pondering all the ways their life could come to a sudden end. They later transition into considering the death of a baby sheep that is about to be slaughtered, thinking about how he might feel in his final moments. There are two main refrains in the poem, which are “it could be the end of me” and “bless [...] too”. These anaphoras not only allow for seamless shifts between the speaker’s various trains of thought, but they also mirror the narrative of this piece. Death can happen any time, a stunning, violent ending to even the most innocent of creatures. But that’s why it’s important to care and express affection towards those we love. This poem is in equal parts cynical and uplifting; cynical in that it draws our attention to the cruelty of the world around us, but uplifting in that it reminds us that there is much to enjoy while we’re still here.
I wrote “Buying the Farm” while at the Sundress Academy for the Arts, a working farm and writing residency in Knoxville, Tennessee. I spent my days intermittently walking the trails in the woods or sitting at a giant table in the communal kitchen, drinking coffee and writing. Evenings, I would take a short walk to my cabin, and make a fire to keep me warm through the night. I looked forward to visiting the sheep in their pasture, the chickens clucking away in their coop. A few days into my time there, I learned one of the sheep I’d been communing with would be slaughtered, and I had a visceral reaction to the news. I grew up on a small family farm in northern California and witnessed various animals being killed, or simply disappearing, only to show up unannounced in that night’s stew. I’ve lived most of my life as a vegetarian thanks to this childhood history. Some people are at peace with the agrarian cycle of life and death – but I’ve always rooted for the creature in question to live. I think “Buying the Farm” is my attempt to sit with the cycle. To hold my life and death and the sheep’s life and death with equal honesty and tenderness. And, for a moment, to hold every creature with this loving regard. Of course, I count people as creatures too.
In terms of form, I use the repetition, “it could be the end of me,” as a sort of frame to explore the various ways one can leave this life, as well as the seemingly endless moments one could have died, but instead moved carelessly through the day. The repetition provides a scaffold for this meditation on mortality. I wrote in long lines (somewhat unusual for me) because the long lines feel generous, and full of time and breath, and I hope for these sensations to exist in this poem.
Assistant Editor Matt Hsu on “Buying the Farm”:
In “Buying the Farm,” Marina Hope Wilson provides a numbing, yet oddly comforting perspective on a heavy topic. Immediately, the poem establishes a strong sense of setting, describing to the reader the rural town that this scene takes place in. The simplicity of the imagery is what makes it so effective; the “coke with roasted peanuts” and “wood burning stove” create a sense of silence that makes the subject matter of the poem all the more haunting. The speaker starts the poem by contemplating their own death, pondering all the ways their life could come to a sudden end. They later transition into considering the death of a baby sheep that is about to be slaughtered, thinking about how he might feel in his final moments. There are two main refrains in the poem, which are “it could be the end of me” and “bless [...] too”. These anaphoras not only allow for seamless shifts between the speaker’s various trains of thought, but they also mirror the narrative of this piece. Death can happen any time, a stunning, violent ending to even the most innocent of creatures. But that’s why it’s important to care and express affection towards those we love. This poem is in equal parts cynical and uplifting; cynical in that it draws our attention to the cruelty of the world around us, but uplifting in that it reminds us that there is much to enjoy while we’re still here.