Abstract

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Feminist Studies 46, no. 1. © 2020 by Abby Minor 103 JUMP ROPE CHANT: A CURE FOR ALL KINDS OF STOMACH ACHES, ca. 2000 BCE–ca. 2000 CE Abby Minor Happy are those who stand in a field at night and hear the double rainbows land, or clap the gaps that RHYTHM makes, or shout to the beat of grasses; They are like trees planted by streams of water, which yield their fruit in its season, & their leaps & their leaves & their feet do not wither, they leap up in the morning singing, in all that they do they chant, and jump, and are singing: “Blood root, hair pin, lupine, clover, watermints and cinnamon, a pencil, myrrh, poplar, juniper, copper water, whiskey, cotton root, snake root, savin, wire,  Clap your hands, all you peoples. —Psalm 47.1 104 Abby Minor wallflower, gunpowder, emeralds, myrtle, tonic of geranium, lace seeds, soap, bone stay, coltsfoot, catheters, quinine, a hoop bound with oil-silk, a hat pin, oak—” I chant a long time I chant from within a hollow place I chant all colors of cohosh Instantly as dawn clips green & white, I chant to dissolve separate parts I jump backwards and I chant So that you may bathe your feet in blood, it was in the Psalms, it’s what God does it might be a rain dance it will come to you like a beautiful cigar filled with fine leaves like the fine feet of a deer cleft in gold leaves Like rhythm a hair pin, rhythm a hat pin, rhythm a knitting hook, rhythm a nail RHYTHM makes my feet like the feet of a deer. I chant rosemary so assiduous I chant pennyroyal forever most poisonous I chant intransigence and double rainbows pop on the sidewalks of the cosmos, double Abby Minor 105 Dutch ropes spin like twin rivers, there I am planted like a tree by the water, like an outrider dropping fire into the ropes: I will kick up my heels seven times there will be a noise and the seed will fall out on the ground shouting, “Date palms, dancing, anise, trillium, turpentine, scissors, silphium, rum, cundums, pomegranate, pearlash, iron, foot baths, borax, birthwort, rue, wormwood, fern root, fig leaf, sneezing, a small ball of sheep’s wool, smart weed, brass, blackberries, goldbeaters, button hooks, hawthorn, womb veil, vinegar, saffron, glass—” If you try our hearts, RHYTHM, if you visit us by night; if I forget which is my left hand and which is your right— just let it be me; psalmist, you, a trace of blood. Me, muscle, 106 Abby Minor you, myrrh. Or you jumping, me rope. Me mirrorstep, you leave your dark prints on the light. Me ambush, you flood. Me bloodthirsty, you a smaller blood. You bloodthirsty, me myrrh. Me fortress, you a tent for the sun. Me splendor, you go on and on. Me hat pin, me flood. You poetry, me a clapping tree, or me poetry and you nothing at all. I say to RHYTHM, “You are my Rhythm, I have no song apart from you and I could never tell just where the sole leaves the sidewalk and turns into the smallest lit pause popped, suspended above shoe shadow; I could never say whether I’m the jumper picking up her knees or the turner planted so still save for her hands— and what pilots her hands, pilot, if not you, if not her hands? If not the offbeat, the bows of light we pattern, Rhythm which is both the rivet and what’s held: like rhythm a hair pin, rhythm a hat pin, rhythm a knitting hook, rhythm a nail Abby Minor 107 RHYTHM makes my feet like the feet of a deer. Now I chant the bitter melon fruit who lights up darkness and my feet do not grow weary writing RHYTHM on the sidewalk lighting incense in the bathtub filled with gin in which I lay chanting like the singers in front, like the musicians last, like the girls between them playing tambourines: Rhythm make a riot Rhythm eat a bee Rhythm use a chicken feather & make a joyful noise Praise Rhythm with mint & astringents with spearmints & syringes with pipes, pen handles, mercury...