At the end of the poem, Jones paints a picture of his “burning house,” indicating that he must walk back to the place that causes him grief and struggle, (Jones 8). This fire serves as a metaphor for what his home life is truly like. Similar to a fire burning and causing destruction, that is what has happened inside Jones’ home. It is apparent that he is looking for an escape, as shown by him leaving the house in the first place. Earlier in the poem, the readers get the picture of two boys in the woods together. But the other boy left Jones “alone to pick pine needles from [his] hair,” (Jones 8). Jones is dirty from being in the forest, shown by his “mud-stained knees,” and he has been deserted by the other boy who is supposed to care about him (Jones 8). When putting these two images together: Jones being abandoned in the forest and his burning home; readers get the sense that he is unfamiliar with being treated well. When he was younger, learning from his parents set his expectations very low. So, as he is growing up, he continues to gravitate toward the people that treat him poorly. And despite all this, Jones still manages to return to his home. He knows something will happen if he does not. His father forces him to leave the house, but he returns because he knows he and his mother need each other. My question for the boy is why does he not try to put out the fire, solve his problems? Fires leave burn marks, but the less a fire burns, the less damage will be caused. How long has the boy’s house been burning? Does he even know how to put out the fire? Will he ever take action?
Category: Fall 2025
i have a secret… can you keep it?
After reading Insomniac by Saeed Jones, I knew I had to post something about it. Honing in on the second stanza, I was enthralled by the idea of locking something up or keeping something hidden. At first, I only believed it was surface-level; the idea of queerness or showcasing of a queer identity was hidden. Yet, after further reflection, I wonder if this “mother of sorrows” we hear of once was, or is actually a queer woman herself. “In a language,” I’m guessing, refers to the language of a minority. Of our kind. The history of ballroom. A facade given to the public and only seen in our spaces. What we swore we would never tell anyone.
This language that the “mother of sorrows” may be keeping from her son is one that she speaks herself. Her tongue may also be a queer one. I wonder if she knew the repercussions of this sacred language, but wanted to do anything and everything in her power to keep her son alive, and maybe one day see the world outside of that locked room he is banished to. The idea of gatekeeping queerness is fascinating to me, and it suggests to me that the mother has seen the hurt it causes firsthand. Was her husband an abusive man? Did he partake in hate crimes against LGBTQ+ people – maybe a law enforcer at that time? We will never know. We can only let our imaginations take us to unseen and unspoken places. What I am trying to say is that I think these lines are a commonly lived experience reference to masking queer identities and/or presentations within a traditional, non-accepting household. That’s all from your favorite literary icon’s favorite literary blogger. Para Scisccors out.
#masking #queer #facade