Rhiannon McGavin

Rhiannon,

—after Stevie Nicks

 

I know you weren’t born on a horse. In my old picture book, the men chase you & your crown of birdsong for days down the beach without you ever breaking a canter. Your eyes are so full of the living ocean that you only turn when the good love calls. They said you appeared from nowhere, but that’s also a place. Before you were king, you were a girl, stubborn. It was what you liked best about yourself once– running after the train, the boy. Not letting anything get away. You made maypoles of the smallest touch, twisting the moments over in the mind’s silk until he said he never loved you, he just let you touch him like he did. & the hurt was plain on your face as brine. Meaning it could dry if you only kept moving. You took shots of stump remover, let the mares go wild, ate every oyster by the river out of your hometown & the graveyard you built there– all those names & dates & snatches of conversation you memorized, carved into street corners, believing someone else would care. How many crossroads did you leave behind? How long did you need to tear through the hours until you found that infamous calm? In the print, I remember you riding bareback in a trophy gold, but don’t you think it’s more like lightning?

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Statement of Homage 

My poem “Rhiannon,” is in honor of the American poet and musician Stevie Nicks. Many Americans only know how to pronounce my name because of her song “Rhiannon”, although I was raised to say that I was named after the myth. Because I grew up with strangers (mostly men) singing the song at me when I introduced myself, I hated it for a long time. Last June, physically ill with a broken heart, I listened to Stevie Nicks’s song again. It felt like I heard it for the first time. This poem is a conversation with her lyrics and what remains of the original story from the Mabinogi.

Stevie nicks

Stevie Nicks was born in Phoenix, Arizona. She began singing as a child and never stopped. She is five feet and one inch tall, and favors platform boots. She has lived and worked across the world and now lives in Phoenix, Arizona.

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Rhiannon McGavin is a silly Jewish girl from Los Angeles. Her work has appeared in The Believer, Teen Vogue, The Los Angeles Times, and more. She is the author of Branches and Grocery List Poems (Not a Cult). Her Irish and UK editions will be published in 2024 with Doomsday Press. This poem is from her current manuscript, The Delilah Suite.