fascinating story, Maryann, riveting in its breathless banality. How on
earth the teller manages to yawn at the end I'll never know.

P-P


>From: Maryann Hazen-Stearns <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: New Sub: (finally!) Seventy One
>Date: Thu, 14 Mar 2002 08:09:30 -0800
>
>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)
>
>
>__________________________________________________
>Do You Yahoo!?
>Yahoo! Sports - live college hoops coverage
>http://sports.yahoo.com/




Perpetua Pullman


_________________________________________________________________
Join the world’s largest e-mail service with MSN Hotmail.
http://www.hotmail.com