poetpotter

In our one-room school house, all the grades had music together. In my private piano lessons I was learning about quarter notes and whole notes, rests and tempo, so much of what we learned at school, I was already learning in my piano lessons. Sometimes at school we pushed our desks together. This poem was a memory about those times when I sat with my friend who was even smaller for her years than I was. Picture this in your mind. The music lessons the teacher tells us about half notes     quarter notes rests and tempo in my bumper-to-bumper desk fit tight to yours we beat out patterns on aging wood our feet barely touching the floor   treble clef                  the lacy clef that our mothers sing bass    the big “C”              the notes our daddies sing   andantino it’s dancing mu...

Have you ever thought about the things less tangible, things you cannot touch or package, but just enjoy? This was part of my muse one day. Undeliverables I can bring you a ripe tomato a love letter written with my own hand I can bring a friend to sit with you a bowl of soup a litany of forgiveness, but I cannot deliver the sunrise over a lake the dew upon the flowers; you have to go and see it for yourself I cannot bring the thousands of miles we travelled together or the hurts of the journey; those would be too heavy to carry and you wouldn’t want them anyway the undeliverables that even a grocery man cannot package Carolyn R. Wilker Tower Poetry, winter 2015-2016 Volume 64, No. 2

My grandmother whom I write of here, mother of my own mom, has been gone from us more than 30 years now,  mere months after she held our youngest newborn daughter. As I spend time now with my older granddaughters who are 7 and 9 years of age, in the kitchen or elsewhere, I remember spending time with my grandmother. In her kitchen, after she moved off the farm. Enjoy! Kitchen Talk                                                                                                      ...