The Honorable Rev. Brocklehurst

I'm continuing my work of writing poems inspired by my rereading of Jane Eyre.  Brocklehurst seemed one-dimensional to my younger eyes, but this time around some of the details of his character were a little more chilling - his fixation on the girls' stockings and hair.  Inspired by my LOFT Poetry Out Loud class, I tried to write a poem from a perspective other than Jane's own.  This was an attempt to get into the man's head - perhaps voice his side of the tale.  Many of the details are from the book - Jane herself notices Maria Brocklehurst's name on Lowood's front edifice on her very first day at school.

 

The Honorable Rev. Brocklehurst

they are so little these girls

they cannot see

but I watch them.

I take their cares to my breast.

my own mother

was always leaving.

I brought her the coat

and she took it from my hand

and didn’t notice

the difference

between her son and the man

she paid

only coppers.

she left her name on silver trays

on buildings

on men.

I took the coins

I bought them needles

and bid them be handed out

only one by one

that they might remember.

I remember

my mother’s curls,

my mother’s laugh,

the maid who did not

darn the stockings

and the blows that fell.

she was the first girl I

ever kissed

she laughed and squirmed

- a little thing.

I watched her fall

beneath the blows.

my mother didn’t notice her son

or the man.