From Miz Quickly. Look around you. Write down the first color you notice, and the second. That's the title of your poem. Write about yourself as a child, and use those two colors as a point of reference.
Elegy In Brown and Gray
Sundays we went to Grandma's;
homemade stuffed cabbage,
pierogi with onions and butter,
darkly-brown piernik heavy
with anise and peppery ginger.
Memories clogged those somber gray rooms,
oppressive as the burnt-brown
cooking smells trapped in airless corners.
cooking smells trapped in airless corners.
She'd rewind the past, over and over,
glass brooch glinting on her ample bosom.
Life revolved around church,
feast days, holy days.
And her superstitions; howling dogs
and phantom knocking heralded
arrival of death.
When the Dark Angel appeared,
Grandma covered mirrors, stopped clocks,
recited fifty Hail Mary's from her post
recited fifty Hail Mary's from her post
on angry arthritic knees,
muttering and clutching worn beads.
muttering and clutching worn beads.
Her stories live on, jumbled in my head.
It's not so much what I remember
as what I will never forget.
And I wonder, who will keep them,
who will tell them, when I'm gone.
13 comments:
Menu in stanza 1 takes me back to childhood...
Menu in stanza 1 takes me back to childhood...
A fine example of homespun memories in poetry. I really loved this.
rewind the past/glass broach
oh, that is a nice bit.
I got so caught up in food memories, it was a while before I noticed there was much more poem to read! Now, I want that menu, preferably cooked and presented to me ;-).
Sounds like my mom, Marianne. My mom had me late in life, she was 45 when I was born. She was Irish and had all of those ideas and superstitions you mention here. Nice write.
Pamela
I love your subtle rhyme and the questions in the end...the worry beads...just wonderful descriptions, Marianne!!
You brought grandma to life, Marianne. It's so important to keep telling stories.
Aside to Pamela: You should write about your mom and being half Irish.
Stories are medicine, they can be healing, and filled with a curious sort of questing. You remind me of all my parents stories and how they need to be written down. Although, I have shared many of them with my children, I wonder how much they remember. Love the details you captured and the sounds in this one,
Elizabeth
Beautiful story piece. Thank you for sharing a piece of your day. I hated stuffed cabbage as a child, and relish it today. With food like that....it's no wonder you cook. mmm... you cook up some good work in April, too.
I just reread after I posted. Lord I'm tired. I meant thanks for sharing a piece of your childhood...not your day. hmmmm.... overload. ;)
Such a vivid evocation of character and senses. Bravo.
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