review of "Silver Waters", By Amy Bloom

Silver Waters

By

Amy Bloom

Plot: The plot of Silver Waters is the breaking down of Violets sister Rose, ending in Rose’s suicide.  The story begins with a memory of Violets of her older sister Rose when she was still “herself”.  The story is broken down in Rose’s ups and down.  Doctors that worked, and doctors that didn’t.  The story is told from Violets point of view but the story is more about Rose, or I guess Violets feelings about Rose.  The interesting thing is the story begins and ends with the same memory of her sister singing.

Emotion:

1) When her mother says she raised warrior queens.  It’s funny because that’s something my mother always says about my sister and I.  We call ourselves amazons.  The strength that mother would have to have to go out into those woods to see her dead daughter.  And to know what Violet had done for Rose would break anyone’s heart.

2) When violet sits with her sister all night in the cold and wet waiting for her to die.  Violet lover her sister so much she basically stopped her life for her several times.  She was such a strong woman to deal with the things she dealt with at such an early age.  It sounded a lot to me like when you hear of nurses staying with patients until they die.  Or comrades on the battlefield, I guess there battlefield was life.

3) In the end we don’t hear about Violet crying.  But we feel her sadness when she re tells the story about her sister singing.  I think in stead of giving this long winded crying sean Amy Bloom was able to capture the emotion of Violet in her memorys.  It was heart breaking.

 I cried when I read this story.  It hit very close to home.  “Closing time.”  Those words ring in my ears.  My cousin killed herself this last summer and I haven’t gotten over it.  I don’t think I’ve even processed it all the way.  When you kill yourself you are at your most selfish.  Rose was lost, and in a hard you never want to think about way, maybe death was a good thing.  But when I think of Rose giving up I think of my cousin.

an excerpt from a could be story

 I have never been a patient person.  I knew the wait was worth it, but right then I was just annoyed.  My cargo was getting restless and I didn’t feel like talking to him.  Ed was a nice enough kid, he stayed put and stayed quite.  He also knew enough from my mood to leave me alone.  They say when one of your senses has been cut off the others peek.  If any of his senses had peeked since he’d gone blind it was his sensitivity.  I keep my headphone on, just loud enough to distract me but quiet enough that I could hear the announcements.  I watched Ed out of the corner of my eyes him head was bobbing to my music, his longish golden brown hair swished around his pale face.  He was tall, or at lest I though he was tall for a nine year old.  We both wore sunglasses, me because the bright overhead lights were blinding against the darkness and rain outside, he wore them so no one could see his eyes were different.  Next to each other people might think we were some kind of celebritys trying to hide our identities.

 A woman sat down across from me and pulled out a burger from a Burger King bag.  The smell was inviting and a little sickening.  It mixed in with the smell of perfume and stale coffee.  The woman opened her mouth wide and took a bite.  She looked about twenty-five; she wore pink lipstick and a matching pink dress.  Her blond hair cascaded down her back she looked too perfect she made me sick.  I looked up and saw that our plane wasn’t leaving for another hour, delayed again.

 My music changed and took on a faster tone.  I had no idea who was singing, I reached down to look at my ipod and Ed grabbed my hand.  I looked at him; his face was turned to me.  It was strange knowing he couldn’t see me.  My phone range before he could say anything, saved by the ring tone.  I took my head phones off and put them on Ed; I took my cell phone out and answered it.  The inviting voice on the other side was just what I needed.

a poem i found under my bed

On My Street

A Love Letter To One Recently Dead

I live on a cobbled stone street

In a big blue house, with a light post in the front yard

A small stone wall guards and protects our yard

The oak trees that line the street are a canopy to keep us cool

The yard in the back is vast

A garden out of a fairy tail with grass to run and play

Our home is warm

Three floors with rooms and family

The halls are lined with memories

The stairs are run with rugs

My room is red

Books piled sky high

My bed my kingdom

My cat the queen

My home in this room

In this house

On this street

Where you and I once long ago did meet

a poem in the romantic style

Light and Waking Dreams

Twas not love but fear of losing sight of beauty that kept me

still, still as the night with all its creature gone to sleep,

waiting for first light to break across my horizon.

In light of what had passed we walked

fingers touched as pale light moved over the pasture

the sound of leaves filled the air

fill the world with sound

so this moment will be heard we met and knew.

I’ve counted a thousand kisses

hoping for a thousand more.

I have loved the principle of beauty in all things

in you, most of all sweet love.

Who’s noble heart hath brought me to my knees.

I dream of birds singing as we walk

the meadow is rich with poppies

and I am drunk on your hazel eyes.

You whisper words

soft as butterfly wings

against my tender heart

would you love a fool, dear girl?

The meadow full of your poppies

swaying around us as we stand

against temptation

first light comes to

us with a flower crown

to anoint your head

Poppy Princess come

to lure me to slumber.

Would you be real when I woke

or a dream so intoxicating it led to my undoing.

To wander the earth in desolation finding memories true

with their feelings false.

Would you remain for me?

My hand out reached dreading that contact would make it real.

Lingering for tender death by your hand.

a random poem I wrote on the bus on the way home from school

First

You remembered my face from the crowd

so you sat by me.

The shy girl who didn’t talk

You were persistent

You were fun

Broke down my wall

So I talked and didn’t stop

You listened

Then you talked and didn’t stop

I listened

You were my first

Kiss

Love

Fuck

Heartbreak

Cause when the term was up

You found a new girl to sit by.

Fuck

Heartbreak

Cause when the term was up

You found a new girl to sit by.

a new poem

A thought that passed though my mind

on a rainy summer morning last year,

at the funeral of my twenty two year old cousin

who killed herself.

She was

He is

We are

I hope

a poem Bill is a Barn Door

Bill is a Barn Door

We painted him there

on the old barn door

me and her

the summer we turned fourteen

we stood on an old box

and kissed him

pretended he loved us

he was the perfect man.

Jimmy next door saw me one day

and touched me in a sympathetic way

so I kissed him instead

left you alone with the door

your only friend

You hadn’t crossed the state line

to be alone

the endless summers we had spent

in white gauze dresses

swimming

kissing bill

Then from the night you came

red on you dress

you smiled with satisfaction

Jimmy walked in the dark

not meeting my eyes

Then it was just me and

Bill the barn door