Monday, April 6, 2015

Day 6 National Poetry Month 2015

Apron. portrait. linoleum. from Alissa


They're here with me, now, hanging
near the old Hoosier I use for a desk:

two of Nonie's apron's.  One is yellow
with with black rickrack around the pocket

and hem.  The other is a brown and cream
print with a single row of orange rickrack

along the bottom and three layers across
the top of the wide pocket.  Two rows are orange

and the middle one is beige.  They've never
been worn.  Nonie wore aprons every day

around the house and they matched the house
dresses she sewed herself.  She even made

festive ones for the holidays when we'd all
descend on her home for a meal and presents.

It was a small home with only four rooms
and a small entry with windows along one side.

Grampy made a shelf to run along the bottom
of those windows for her purple and pink African

violets where they bathed in the morning light.  The moms
would gather in the kitchen helping Nonie prepare the feast,

their high heels tapping on the linoleum, their voices
blending with the clanging of pots and pans.

The dads would sit in the living room sipping high balls,
discussing work and world problems.  Portraits

of older generations lined the upright piano looking
on with somber expressions.  Occasionally, Grampy

would grumble at one of us kids to slow down as we ran by.
All four rooms were connected and we could circle

the house from room to room.  We'd chase each other
playing some sort of tag that only made sense to us.

Around and around we'd go just like the earth
spinning on its axis.  Around and around.

No problems ever got solved in that living room
but the world continues to this day; women still prepare

meals, men still pontificate, and children still play.
The sun and the moon rise and set and life goes on.

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