I love everything about this but the final yawn
Terri )O(
----- Original Message -----
From: "Maryann Hazen-Stearns" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Thursday, March 14, 2002 4:09 PM
Subject: New Sub: (finally!) Seventy One
> Hi folks,
>
> It's been a while since I've written a poem. I won't give away the
> methodology (?) of the thing until later... C&C welcome as always.
>
> ~*~
>
> Seventy One
>
> These are some things I remember, she said,
> one muggy afternoon on her front porch
> beneath clusters of grape wisteria.
> Hummingbirds buzzed. Cold lemonade sparkled
> in a glass pitcher with berries and ice.
> If you really want to know. She rested
> her gray head against the white whicker back
> of her rocker. Closed her eyes. Sighed. Home
> made yellow bell bottoms with bright colored
> flowers. Your mother wore them every day
>
> until they wore right out. I remember
> the imprint of a leaf in the cellar
> floor, like a fossil, two ticking taxi
> meters under John's workbench, and the boys
> train table and photo lab. And there was
> an upright piano with missing keys
> someone had left behind. Do you want more?
> Well, there were always mountains of laundry
> waiting to be sorted, or washed, or dried,
> folded, ironed, brought back upstairs or down.
>
> She laughed then. Some things never change. Never
> change. When your mother was little she had
> a Susie-something-or-other oven.
> We got it for her for Christmas one year.
> It came complete with real cake mixes and
> when they were gone, we couldn't buy her more,
> so she used mud. She used to pretend she
> was an art teacher or a movie star.
> I remember that she sometimes knew things
> about people. Things that were secret. She
>
> knew. How's about some more lemonade? Now
> your uncle, she chuckled, was all the time
> getting in trouble. Or he was busy
> getting banged up. We had a swing downstairs
> in the cellar and one day we were all
> upstairs in the living room. We could hear
> the swing going back and forth SQUEAK squeak SQUEAK
> SQUEAK THUNK! The whole floor shook and all
> we heard then was squeak squea sque, all quiet like
> so we quick ran downstairs and there he laid
>
> on his back out cold. He'd swung so high he
> conked his head on the beam. It's a wonder
> he didn't have a concussion. She shook
> her head. I remember catching him and
> his friend Raymond smoking cigars in their
> tree house. There was so much smoke and coughing
> I thought the damn thing was on fire and
> took the garden hose to it. They got drenched.
> Yeah, he was always in trouble that one.
> Him and his friend Ray. Inseparable.
>
> You want to know about my parents now?
> I remember that my father could paint.
> Like a real artist. He used oils and
> watercolors. He painted landscapes. Once
> he painted a large mural on the wall
> of his bedroom. It was a branch with two
> blue jays and I remember as a young
> girl being afraid of the giant birds.
> No matter where you stood in the room, their
> eyes looked right down their beaks at you. As if
>
> they were real. Have another oatmeal bar.
> Now my mother had a great knack for crafts.
> One thing she did that I remember, oh,
> like it was yesterday. She set a cast
> iron skillet on the fire with just
> enough water to cover the bottom.
> When it came to a simmer she added
> clear blue marbles. When the marbles got hot
> the cracked but stayed whole and when they cooled off
> she glued them to a gold chain and made a
> necklace. Your mother still has it, she yawned.
>
> ~*~
>
> CW, Mary :O)
>
>
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