Oddments

In search of story


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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: April 7

SANYO DIGITAL CAMERADo you remember the days

you wore hats of grass and dirt

when running uphill was an option

and chiggers got under your shirt

when the rolldown gave you the dizzies

but you ran back up again

for no reason other than doing it

breathlessly joie-de-vivre-in’ ?

Connections


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The Cleaning Lady

She cleans.
Cobwebby grievances
wizened words
fusty dustbunnies of omission
ambushed
in airless corners
of family memory.

Stains and grime
a generation old
clothespinned
on crisscrossed lines
exposed in stale sun
to narrowed eyes.

Dirt.
Familiar friend.
Ally.
Excellent weapon.
Swept
piled
admired
saved
for another
never-new day
re-cycle
re-tell
re-kindle

Eat off your floors?
No, thank you.
So clean a house
lies.