Oddments

In search of story


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Connections: June 11.17

At the corner of Useless and Broken

near the Unresolved/Hopeful junction

a city of storage arises

awaiting its Extreme Unction.

Fragments and miscellany

tethering us to — what? —

the past? a loss? a wish?

a monument to glut?

Irony in cubes:

crowded emptiness

in corrugated sepulchre

I own my need for less.

 

 

 

Connections


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Connections: June 9.17

  As you know, dear reader, I am trying to ready my house for selling.

I’ve been packing, hauling, sweating, heaving, sorting, tossing,

stressed, sleepless, harried and hassled,

weary, bruised, and cross.

It’s been a long dark tunnel with a tiny light at the end.

My son called. Also a gardener.

They have so many plants left over from the plant sale —

he’s planted all he can —

would I take some?

If you are a gardener, you heard my gasp.

Wasted plants? All those cramped roots longing to stretch?

Gardeners are irrational

so I said sure.

I have so much to do and am so close to being ready to list

but I said sure.

And we had some perfect June days.

I sank my knuckles into the dirt

brushed up against the tomato leaves as much as possible

cooed over the poor cramped marigolds

fussed over the red onions

introduced the new jalapeno to old-timer daylily

pictured the banana peppers next the cherry tomatoes come August

basked in the brief respite from the world’s chaos

and my own

and now have the prettiest little kitchen garden you ever saw.

Planted

— go figure —

for someone else.

 

 

 

Connections

 

 

 


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Connections: May 21.17

What’s in a back yard?

A little grass, a little sun

a little bit of garden

a little bit of fun

a haven for the rabbits

where dandelions bloom

the fresh-aired open-concept

original family room

where games and make-believe

work and play combine

but victim of aesthetics:

I miss the old clothesline.

Connections


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Connections: May 9.17

My grandma had a tiny house

if you take a yardstick measure

but it was huge in other ways:

curiosity and treasure.

The coolest stuff was hid away

but I knew where to find it

and she would let me hold it

and tell the tale behind it.

Now I’m packing up my house

which means, I’m sure you know,

packing up my family

striving to let go.

Memories sneak in everywhere

in closet and in drawer

one thing leads to another

as I’m sorting on the floor.

You will understand, I’m sure,

I hyperventilate

when I note the Christmas card box:

45 for $1.98!

And thus do different eras

re-tell themselves to me

as I wrap the family flotsam

as if crown jewelry.

Connections