the yarn spinner

taken from my great-grandmother’s book of poetry, Where Childern Live (1958).

The Yard Spinner

Intent on every word, the small boy hears
A story woven of an old man’s years
That, with the telling, finds a space to grow
In splendor for a boy who wants it so,
And, as the truly wonderous tale unravels,
Along an old world trail a small boy travels —
A boy who hangs upon each chosen word,
As with the spinning yarn the air is stirred,
Until the hero-worshipper is led,
His hand held fast in grandfather’s — to bed.

sunset while house-sitting

watch how the light slants
across the garden and lights red
the empty old vines
across the yard from the back
farm woods fields, the mysterious “back”
and notice,
the jungle gym no longer has swings…
when were they taken down?
years ago.
lifetimes ago.
feel the light grow brighter, hot
on your cheek through the glass door
like a warm hand
remember your grandparents waving goodbye
from their door on Charmuth
and your parents
top of the hill
low lingering light
silhouettes waving.

happy mother’s day~ "a mother’s heart"

Happy Mother’s Day~ spent a lovely weekend with my family and am so thankful for my mamma. She is the bestest!! A poem from my great-grandmother Alice that is especially appropriate. Shows that some things never change…. [taken from her book of poetry The Fruit Thereon]

A Mother’s Heart
A mother’s heart is tuned to listen for
The groping sound of hands upon a door —
The midnight striking of the mantel clock —
The turning of a key within the lock.

A mother knows when waiting hours are past
And each loved one is safe at home at last.

such lovely things

here’s a poem from my great-grandmother Alice. i just really liked this for today. comes from her book of poetry, Where Children Live (1958).

Such Lovely Things

Close to my heart, when I am old,
Such lovely things I’ll have and hold…

Sunlight dancing through the leaves…
The sound of doves in weathered eaves…

Purple lilacs in the rain…
Meadow flowers, waving grain…

A yellow moon, shining bright…
A single star in the night…

A redbird’s call, oriole’s song,
To echo through my whole live long…

Such lovely things I’ll have and hold
Close to my heart… when I am old.

the scent of coffee

currently watching antiques roadshow (love it) over a nice lunch, thinking about what i should post on a day like today. here i am, celebrating that i will be moving to my own apartment and yet thinking about a friend who is coming back to life after a sudden collapse. all of this stews together in my brain…. and, when all else fails, a cup of coffee usually does the trick, hence the following…

The Scent of Coffee

that familiar earthy vapor
compelled by something larger
[by the principle that states hot air
must move on and up]
gently steams my pores.

spindrifts of hazelnut waft closer
with a memory of my mother
telling me of her mother
who would, in early morning car trips,
open a canister of coffee.

oh how it would fill the car
how it would fill them with excitement
those children conditioned to know
that the scent of coffee then meant
a trip to the beach.

slightly cooler, my coffee takes
a shape much like a ghost who,
against its will, is caught on film.
the scene feels just within reach
then quickly vanishes

playful, wistful, gone
rich aroma lingering.

we leave the ones we love cause it’s easier

you never went to visit or
say goodbye.

instead you were walking alone amidst white birch
that looked silhouette black as the sun was setting
and your teeth were chattering. you were blind when you fell.

was it the memories or the premonitions that burned
your corneas and left your eye sockets full of ash?

you feel the dirt piling up under your fingernails
as you dig a place to lay to rest.