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

Quilted Countryside

Quilted Countryside

Scattered across the counterpane,
Knots of cattle and sheep with lamb
Roads threading over soft folds.
Needles of sunlight piercing the clouds.
Plowshares feather-stitching the fields.
Circles of oats, squares of timothy,
Diamonds of alfalfa, rectangles of rye.
Farmhouse yards with calico flowerbeds,
Striped cat and spotted mongrel dog.
Velvet waves of golden grain.
Corduroy rows of grass-green corn.
Denim blue ditches crisscrossing fields.
Warm woolen warp of wheat.
All pieced with the plowing,
The planting,
And harvest.

L

Story of a Marriage

Story of a Marriage


When we first met it was a fairy tale.
Through the mist of bliss we kissed.
We married to live "Happily ever after."
Volumes of romance in our first years.
Mysteries to solve, adventures to live.
Then growing times with Mother Goose Rhymes.
Fewer romances, less mystery, the daily news set in.
Reader's Digest crowned the toilet tank.


Life became a Gothic Tale,
With jagged cliffs of finance,
Yawning caves of exhaustion,
Grey ocean waves of encroaching years.
Granite walls of taking for granted.
The classic horror story.

Self-help and how-to litter the coffee table.
Bible, tear-stained, dog-eared, lying open.
Redemption’s story.
From the furnace, pure gold,
Impervious steel.
Hero and heroine become
A love story once again.

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

The Wind and Mariah

The Wind and Mariah


The screen door is brazenly snatched from her hand
By an impudent gust.
Racing, careening currents chase the old woman,
Across the porch and down the steps.
She clings to the railing in self-defense.
Rambunctious blasts knock tulips to-and-fro,
Riffle the silk rose on her venerable black hat.
She is blown through the garden gate,
Onto the boardwalk.
Her furrowed face crinkles in delight.
No mere zephyr, this callow wind of Spring!

A clitter-clatter, chitter-chatter vestige of leaves,
Is harassed down the street,
At a pace the vintage lady can no longer attain.
She places a protective palm atop her velvet headgear,
As draughts tug and tease,
Attempting to insinuate themselves under the brim.

"Don't get any notions, " she cautions.
"Useless to fancy my hat'" she maintains.

A final jerk, an unseen smirk,
Wind rushes off,
Leaving Mariah, breathless and blown,
To totter on her way.

L

Just words…

Just words…

“Clumsy!”
“What have you done now?”
“I don’t care who started it!”
“Wait ‘til your father comes home! He’ll teach you a thing or two!”
“How’s the weather up there?”
“You think you’re so smart!”
“What is it, again, that you do for a job?”
“Stupid.”
“Can’t you do anything right?”
“Think you’re better than the rest of us?”
“I should have found some way to get an abortion…”
Just words…

All learn language, hear words
From the day of birth til death.
The lotto winners of life hear
Phrases of love, encouragement.
But there are those, too many,
That have a secret, invisible friend,
A friend to help them survive words pounding,
Chipping, slapping, knocking down,
Everyday, after every long day.
“Clumsy!”
“What have you done now?”
“I don’t care who started it!”
“Wait ‘til your father comes home! He’ll teach you a thing or two!”
“How’s the weather up there?”
“You think you’re so smart!”
“What is it, again, that you do for a job?”
“Stupid.”
“Can’t you do anything right?”
“Think you’re better than the rest of us?”
“I should have found some way to get an abortion…”
Until even a secret friend can't survive,
No longer wants to be alive,
Tries to find an end,
For himself and his secret friend.

L

Fall Roundup

Fall Roundup


Cows caterwaulin’.
Calves all a bawlin’.
Steers buttin’, brawlin’,
Cowboys swearin’, callin’,
To the heelers as they run.
Black, tan, brown,
From the hills herded down,
Cattle drive of old renown,
Fills the road that leads to town.
Almost there.

The bull breaks away,
Belligerence on display,
Cowboy patience starts to fray,
Been a long, hard day.
Cutting horse is spent.

The hills, golden, dusty dry,
Geese above southbound fly,
Wind through aspens gives a sigh,
Frosted leaves drop and lie.
Fall roundup.

L