1 essay by Amanda Moore,
on the poems of Monica Rico

THERE WERE SOME PANTOUMS

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The pantoum is the perfect poetic form for writing about memories and nostalgia. The ways lines
return with new context is how memories distill, morph, change as time passes and subjects
become distant. Like and unlike these poems, I never had a bikini, boys told me my face was
OK but not my body, I never had short shorts or a boyfriend who couldn’t spell, and I loved my
fierce grandma who gave me manicures in the kitchen. These pantoums are not made of my
life, but they powerfully unearth my memories and nostalgia as they reveal the speaker in
glances and blows.

The way lines return with new contexts is how memories distill, morph, change as time passes
and subjects become distant. Not all memories are good ones, and these poems evoke both the
sweetness and the sourness of youth without preferencing the sweet or succumbing to the sour.
They are not made of my my life, but they powerfully unearth my memories and nostalgia as
they reveal the speaker in glances and blows. The repetition inherent in the pantoum creates
familiarity but holds clarity at a distance—I see a lot but can never fully understand.

Not all memories are good ones, and these poems evoke both the sweetness and the sourness
of youth without preferencing the sweet or succumbing to the sour. They are about surviving it
all. The repetition inherent in the pantoum form creates familiarity but holds clarity at a
distance—I see a lot but can never fully understand. I particularly appreciate the first one, which
rearranges the stanza pattern enough to make me wonder if I really know what I know.

These poems are about surviving it all. Some of the images I wish I either wrote or was: “all legs
and lies,” “braless crop top and pony tail flip flop,” and “a strip of pollen in her smile.” I
particularly appreciate the first one, which makes me wonder if I really know what I know. The
compression and precision the form demands of these topics make these poems pop and
sizzle—I almost want to say a pantoum is like a bikini.

Some of the images I wish I either wrote or was: “all legs and lies,” “braless crop top and
pony tail flip flop,” and “a strip of pollen in her smile.” Like and unlike these poems, I never had a
bikini, boys told me my face was OK but not my body, I never had short shorts or a boyfriend
who couldn’t spell, and I loved my fierce grandma who gave me manicures in the kitchen. The
compression and precision the form demands of these topics make these poems pop and
sizzle—I almost want to say a pantoum is like a bikini! It is the perfect poetic form for writing
about memories and nostalgia.

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