Category: Uncategorized

Monday came and Monday
went, with 
nary a poem from
me

Will we ever gather again like
we used to? Maybe the younger ones
will. They already do. Us old folks,
not ready to die yet, we’ll gather in
dibs and dabs. A child and their children
here, another child there. A granddaughter,
a grandson, a visit masked. A visit after
testing.

Last Thanksgiving eve was the last big
gathering for us. After that, the covid
meandered through the family, up one side and
down the other, hitting some twice.

The novelty of zooming long
gone. Plague without end.  Thankful
we’re all still on
this side. 

I’m sitting on the pavement knitting
sunflowers,  eating cheddar
cheese. Remembering better days. Times
with space enough and
more.

Hardback books lined my walls and
I hung my satchel on a
nail before  sitting in
front of the
fireplace drinking wine, and
tossing
my  empty glass onto the hearth.

Days it was cold enough to
need a fire. Seasoned oak was piled
high in the wood room.

Not like now. Not like
now.

The circle of lights
reflects through the window,
hovering in the yard like
a flying saucer.

My sister and I sat
at the red kitchen table eating
cheese toast. The cheese
stretching with
each bite between our mouths
and our toast until the
rope breaks.

You cut the garlic in the kitchen
prepping dinner for bean curd and

spinach. Tofu pressed and ready to lightly fry
to a toasty brown crispness, a
contrast to the soft spinach and inner curd.

They said half a clove of garlic you call to
me. So you put in three? Something

like that. Combining three recipes to
perfection, the right spices, sweet and

hot, mild and spicy. Soy sauce, light or dark,
a teaspoon sugar, you cut the garlic

They said half a clove of garlic, but
can you have too much? Add some
peppercorns. Wait, where did the mild

go? Toss together in the wok and add green
onions and fresh spinach. Dinner!

At dusk, before the
streetlights come on, we
watch fireflies
flicker in our tangled green
yard.

Dear Kris,

I just wanted to let you know that you
got it all wrong. There
was no 4th child, no twin. Those
were the people down the
street. Nothing to
do with our
family. Hope this
helps

Love, Grampa Jones

I once played The Wild Horseman on
the used piano my mother
bought for my lessons.

But didn’t like my teacher so
I quit before I could play as well
as she did.

It was an upright piano. Used. We
signed it inside the cover, back of where
you place your music.
That piano moved three times. From
the upstairs flat n Calvert, to the house
on Oregon and
back upstairs to the flat on Fairfield.

They left it there when my grandparents
died and they moved 300 miles
away.

Decades later my grown son and
a friend went
exploring  the house on Oregon, missing half
the roof, doors boarded up or
boards torn
off.

They found
an abandoned piano in
the wreckage. It wasn’t ours though.
Someone else
had moved on and left it
behind.