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Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts

Monday, March 22, 2010

Grandma's Chicken Coop

Grandma's Chicken Coop


Gathering eggs when young,
My sister and I,
Place small bare feet,
In carefully chosen positions,
Among the sawdust and droppings,
On the rough wooden boards,
Of grandma's chicken coop.

The summer sun at its zenith,
Has soaked through the shingled roof.
Sweat drops trickle
Down our necks,
Down our backs,
In erratic trails, unreachable.

The musk of the coop,
Strong in our noses,
The fine dust stirred upon entering,
Adheres to our damp faces,
Makes a golden ribbon,
From the knothole in the wall,
To the crusted floor.
Each minute particle,
Drifting in a lazy haze,
On the shaft of light.

The hens sit heat-stupored,
On their multi-tiered nests.
Methodically,
Left to right,
Top row to bottom,
We collect the warm, brown eggs.
Holding my shirt hem,
I gently lay them
In my spontaneous calico sack.

Our thieving complete,
We retreat,
To grandma's cool, dim kitchen,
With our booty.


L

The Bee

The Bee


Needles up, needles down.
Plying of the needles.
Ten stitches to the inch,
On the frame basted quilt.
Four year old Olivia
Under the frame,
On the floor,
Sees knees.

Knees and sensible shoes.
Granny Stanton's brown calico,
Crocheted house slippers.
Marta pink roses, faded with washing.
Mama's navy pin dot, polished white oxfords.
Aunt Bertha's green check, Lizy's dove gray.
All the knees wearing dresses.
All the feet in well worn shoes.
Olivia serves tea in tiny dishes
To the doll that came from Sears
Last Christmas.

The murmur of voices,
Hums and hovers overhead,
"New beauty parlor opening on Hershall Avenue. "
"Aunt Patsy is going to have another baby.
They're hoping for a girl this time. "
"Uncle Thomas is looking mighty poorly these days,
since Clarice passed on. "
"Price of potatoes has gone plain out of sight!
How's a body to live?"
"Wasn't Sunday service just real nice?"

Olivia places her head on mama's polka dot knees,
Drifting off under the blanket of conversation.
Mama's hand stops quilting,
Reaches beneath the frame,
Stroking the strands,
Of silky brown hair.

L