The House I Lived In . . .

The House I Lived In . . .

I was to live at 42l Holderness St.

for 18 years of my life. 

A house immortalized for me

in photos like this one that Mother took at Easter

of neighbor girls I’ve long forgotten,

And me with a bow too heavy for my wispy blonde hair.

But the porch is what I see in the photo.

The porch where I played jacks and fiddlesticks,

Played Canasta with little Lester,

Balanced on the bannisters as a tightrope walker.

There’s the mailbox next to the door

where the postman with his leather bag

brought my Sky King ring,

And the long awaited Captain Midnight Secret Code Badge.

stay tuned . . .

~~

At One With the Abelias

At One With the Abelias

I am “at one” with the abelias this morning,

clip-clipping with these old hedge clippers.

Good wood handles with sharp blades

like Moses, the handy man’s.

I could be right back in 1943 in early summer

hearing his clip-clip, clip-clip

outside the low kitchen window.

thin white curtains with

faded red stripes near the hem

blowing in the humid breeze.

The curtains hung from a flimsy metal rod

nailed into the wide painted woodwork of a

residential house built in 1905 in Atlanta’s West End.

A house in which abelias bloomed

every year in front of the porch bannisters.

and I am one with the abelias today

and with my past.

My Mind Drifts . . .

My mind drifts . . .

as I’m listening to Carole King and James Taylor

singing Will You Love Me Tomorrow,

a Special on PBS tonight.

My mind drifts . . . 

remembering working on that new song last week

wishing my arm muscle wasn’t so inflamed,

so I could record it

talk/sing in those poetic lyrics. 

My mind drifts back . . .

to the conversation this afternoon,

about how important it is for our children,

even now, to think well of us,

and losing weight is part of that.

I remember Mother losing a lot of weight

to make her first visit to me

when I became sorority president.

She was smiling that day

happy with herself,

in a new navy blue two piece print suit,

I’d never seen before.

My mind drifts . . .

to the poems, we wrote in the booth

at Big City Cafe today 

after Regina read an essay from the book

Woman in Front of the Sun by Judith Ortiz Cofer, 

about women needing writing mentors, and inspirations.

We picked seven words from the book to write a poem:

 quilt, precious, whispers, muted, gate, refusal, encounter.

I dig out my writing journal from the book bag

 and copy out my poetic creation:

Fling open the gate of old age!

precious, muted,

whispers woven into a quilt

a refusal to be neither less than,

nor, more than

the next encounter.

~~

stay tuned . . .

St. Francis & the Kudzu

It’s hard to want to write when you’ve

just had cataract surgery,

but

I’m recovering

 and even took a photo.

I can’t lean over and pull weeds

or lift anything heavy.

But I can post some earlier photos

like St. Francis & the Kudzu

and the lemon lily

and the frog jazz trio playing
 for the gardenias.

~ ~ 

I’m remembering how lucky I am
 to have Medicare

and have my cataract removed
 in an Eye clinic
 in a beautiful Antebellum house.

I'm happy to have a Buddha statue
 and to be able to laugh.

stay tuned . . .