Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Grandmother’s House on East Street -- Poetry 2009

Weekends found her small house pleasantly cluttered with family;
brothers, sisters, and in-laws gathered tightly around the kitchen table.
Tea kettle whistled; Woolworth 5 & dime white cups clattered on saucers;
weeks events unfolded laced with empathy, laughter and commiseration.
For the cousins… board games prevailed during inclement winter weather;
Spring and fall we were chased outside to leave the adults conversation.
Older cousins supposedly supervised the youngest… leading us astray
far from the house; they’d run off; leaving us to our own devices.
One time their dead eye aim - flinging mud balls from the brook –
trapped us on the upper hill for an hour; clustered flat on stomachs,
we had to wait them out without attempting to return the wads of mud.
Tea cups cleared to sink counter, milk to the fridge, reduced price A & P
pound cake back in the bread box, conversation ebbed - the night sped on.
“Time to go home” was our homing device; the light pouring from the open
back door was our beacon as deeper dusk settled over wood and field.
Older cousins checked in by the time we straggled through brambles,
overgrown pasture, finally crossing the demarcation line – the brook.
Safety found in our parent’s cars; a chorus of farewells resounded as car
doors slammed shut; engines came to life… headlights guided us home.
Carried from car to bed, cousin adventures occupied night dreams.

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