While she talks on the phone,
her blue pen seems to have
a life of its own,
makes abstract flowers
& filigree
& Gordian knots
all around the list of birds seen
on her morning walk.
I watch fascinated
as I eat my allotted three
fresh peanut-butter cookies,
each bearing the print of a fork’s
uncomplicated foot.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
I like the peeks into your childhood world with your naturalist mama…
Thank you. I’ve been trying to remember to add all such posts to the Memoir category, both so readers will know they’re nonfiction, and also so I can re-find them easily, perhaps someday for an actual memoir-type thing.
Actually, poems like this rekindle my faith in humanity, and the power of simple things.
I’m glad. Yesterday was Via Negativa’s birthday, which I didn’t feel like commemorating particularly — but I think that’s what got me ruminating on the past.
Oh, Dave, I love this. The glimpse of your mom then (and of you, then) seen through the eyes and the poetry of you, now. And the ending of the poem is gorgeous.
Thanks! It’s so interesting to think about one’s parents when they were younger than one is now (ten years younger, in this case).