"Resistance" by Traci Brimhall (February 2019)
Author: Traci Brimhall
Brimhall, Traci. “Resistance.” Poetry Foundation, Poetry Magazine, Feb. 2019, www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/148960/resistance.
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of hydrangea, always bowing
by summer’s end. Must be salt,
like sadness at a burning city,
an ethical disobedience. I must be
a violet thorn of fire. These days
I don’t taste good, but I must
be singing and boneless, a lily.
I must beg for it, eyes flashing
silver as a fish. Must be a rosary
of listening. This is how I know
to love. I must hide under desks
when the forecast reads: leaves red
as meat, sleeping lions, chandelier
of bone, moon smooth as a worry
stone. I must want my life and fear
the thin justice of grass. Clouds
hunt, wound the rising tide. I must
be paradised. On my knees again.
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First reactions and big feelings
- What are you feeling in your body as you move through this poem: heavy, tense, calm, confused, seen, something else?
- What are two or three images that will not leave you alone right now?
- If you had to name the speaker’s mood in just one or two words, what would you choose?
- Where do you see tension between wanting to be gentle/beautiful and also being dangerous/painful in these lines?
- Who do you think the “I” is trying to convince here: themself, another person, God, the world, all of the above?
Want to keep going and dig into some of the specific images and patterns together?
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Here’s the poem copied cleanly at the top so we can see it all in one place:
> I must be the heavy globe
> of hydrangea, always bowing
> by summer’s end. Must be salt,
> like sadness at a burning city,
> an ethical disobedience. I must be
> a violet thorn of fire. These days
> I don’t taste good, but I must
> be singing and boneless, a lily. I must beg for it, eyes flashing
> silver as a fish. Must be a rosary
> of listening. This is how I know
> to love. I must hide under desks
> when the forecast reads: leaves red
> as meat, sleeping lions, chandelier
> of bone, moon smooth as a worry
> stone. I must want my life and fear
> the thin justice of grass. Clouds
> hunt, wound the rising tide. I must
> be paradised. On my knees again.
> —Traci Brimhall
I’m hearing you as a reader here, wanting to sit with this poem together rather than get a full interpretation handed to you.
To start us slow, I’m curious:
If you just go by feeling and not analysis yet, what are the two or three images or lines that stay with you the most after reading this—either because they confuse you, move you, or feel oddly familiar?
Want to share those, and then I can ask a few more focused, gentle questions about them?
I must be the heavy globe
of hydrangea, always bowing
by summer’s end. Must be salt,
like sadness at a burning city,
an ethical disobedience. I must be
a violet thorn of fire. These days
I don’t taste good, but I must
be singing and boneless, a lily. I must beg for it, eyes flashing
silver as a fish. Must be a rosary
of listening. This is how I know
to love. I must hide under desks
when the forecast reads: leaves red
as meat, sleeping lions, chandelier
of bone, moon smooth as a worry
stone. I must want my life and fear
the thin justice of grass. Clouds
hunt, wound the rising tide. I must
be paradised. On my knees again.
by Traci Brimhall
The repetition of “I must be…” hits like a drum all the way through this poem, almost like the speaker is trying on different selves or rules they think they have to follow. As you read it, what kind of pressure or expectation do you feel building on the speaker with all those “must” phrases?
Do you want to hear more?
First quick reaction check-in
- There is so much repetition of “I must…” in this poem. It creates a kind of pressure, like the speaker is coaching themself or being forced into certain roles.
- The images move fast: flowers, fire, fish, rosary, desks, storms, prayer. It feels like the poem keeps flipping between beauty and danger.
- Before we dig in, I am curious about you: what line or image sticks with you the most right now?
Want to keep going and look at one small part of the poem together next?
First, a quick check-in 欄
- You brought in a published poem and said you want to talk about it together.
- That means I’ll respond to you as a reader, not as a writer.
- I’ll stay focused on helping you explore and deepen your own thinking, not give you a “right” interpretation.
- I’ll move one short paragraph at a time so you can pause, react, and guide where we go next.
Before we dig in, let me ask you this to ground us:
- When you read this poem, what line or image hits you first, like “oh, that one stays with me”? Not why yet—just which part sticks.
Do you want to see more?
Leaning into that “heavy globe / of hydrangea”
- That opening image you pointed to really does demand attention. It is dense. Round. Weighted. Decorative, but also exhausted by its own beauty.
- The way the poem keeps repeating “I must be…” turns that image into a kind of self-portrait formula: trying on identities, metaphors, selves, almost like the speaker is insisting themselves into shape.
- So noticing that first hydrangea line is also noticing how the whole poem teaches you how to read it: heavy, bowed, lush, a little overripe, but still blooming.
- I am curious what “begs to be seen” means to you here: is it the visual lushness of the flower, the emotional weight of bowing, or something about recognition—like “see me in this image”?
Would you like to keep going into more of the images that follow that hydrangea, or stay with this one and unpack it more first?
on the uploaded document.
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