Crochet

I'm wondering if there was a storm
out in the ocean over the weekend
that produced these huge waves.

I was here on Saturday
and the ocean was flat
with just foot high slats.

Today they're six feet giants
building, building, falling
into lace, a doily crocheted

by my grandmother. I can see
her hands grasping the hook,
twirling the thin, white thread

over and under, punctuating
each move with her anger, her
dissatisfaction, her mouth a straight line,

creating beauty out of her everyday
disappointments. The sun is warm.
The wind is cool. The waves keep pounding.

Sunday Scribblings: Tribe

My Tribe

Kylie is in the guest room
with Danielle
playing a game,
their voices
like Christmas bells
ringing in my heart.

My husband and son
are sitting on the porch
talking about boats,
watching the water
in the canal
float by.

My daughter is not here
but back in NH
working,
making a safe
life for her
daughter

I'm in the kitchen
chopping onions,
red bell peppers,
and celery
for macaroni salad
humming a soft tune.

3WW: Drank, Hitch, Muster

Hallway to Death

She drank a bottle
of vodka

after the doctor
refused

to give her any more
Percosets.

We found her
on the floor

with a broken
wrist.

At the hospital
she complained

of snakes invading
her room

and hitching themselves
to her underarms

and wrapping
around her chest.

There was a broken pipe
under her bed

flooding the room.
Every nurse

was eyeing her man
and he was chasing

all of them. Weeks
later the hallucinations

eased. She remembered
nothing. And even

a stint in rehab
wasn't enough for her

to muster the willpower
to live without pills

and alcohol. She
has lost weight.

Her skin looks healthier
now that she's not

all dehydrated. Her back
is feeling better.

She's eighty years old.
But her remaining years

seem like an empty
corridor she has to walk

down alone
if she has to be clean.

3WW: Banter, Fumble, Glance

The old woman fumbles
with the bandage
wrapped around
her wounded wrist

like the pain pills
and booze
she wraps her mind
in to stop the pain.

I glance at her
and see the mess
she’s making.
I walk over

to help even though
she did this
to herself. I see
the stack of dirty

dishes in the sink,
the medication containers
lined up
like soldiers

waiting to fight,
the empty Absolut
bottle. I wrap
the ace bandage

loosely around
her arm. “Can
you go to the store
for me? I’m all out

of vodka.” I shake
my head no, too afraid
to open my mouth,
afraid all the negative

banter in my head
will spew out,
will cover her,
will kill her.

3WW: Gait, Nudge, Ripen

Carol and I took a stroll
through her garden.

The tomatoes were ripening
in front of us

in the warm September
sun. In the house

her mother-in-law,
my father-in-law's wife,

was balking at going
into an assisted-living

facility. We'd been trying
to reason with her

for hours, to gently nudge
her into acceptance.

My husband, her husband,
and her son were with her

and even from outside
we could see her throwing

daggers at them with her eyes.
I took some pictures

of Carol's flowers as she
told me their names

but soon we had to return
to the house. Our gait

was slow and reluctant
as we walked across

the lawn. We opened
the door and stress

puffed itself up
and blew into our faces.

Sunday Scribblings: Wait

My father-in-law
is staying with us
while waiting
for a spot
in an assisted-living
facility.

He had a mild stroke
earlier in the summer
that affected
his short-term
memory.

His wife,
suffering from her own
problems,
is in Connecticut
with her son
also waiting.

“When is Elli arriving?”
he asks several times
a day. “She's not coming here;
we're going to drive
you down
in a few days.”

“Oh, okay.” A few minutes
later he says, “Elli's not here;
she had to leave
to go to work. I hope
she's not having
an affair
with Roger.”

No, dad, Roger
is her son. He's taking
good care of her.”
“Oh, okay.” A few minutes
later, “When's Elli going
to get here?”

We're all waiting.

3WW: Joke, Leverage, Remedy

Who’s that man
standing with his arms
wide open,
tears in his eyes,
and a smile on his face?

Oh, it’s my dad
welcoming my mom.
He’s been waiting
thirteen years
for this day.

See how fast
she’s running,
now, all long legs
and limber,
dark hair

flying behind her.
It’s no joke,
Dad; she’s really there.
Scoop her up,
give her a big

hug. You’re
the remedy
she’s needed
these last declining
days.

Turn around,
walk with her
like a bride
and groom
holding hands,

grins on your faces
down the long
aisle
of a heavenly
forever.

The Sun and the Moon

The orange sun
was floating
like a big balloon
on the horizon
when I went out
for a walk
one morning
last week
in Florida.

I was there to visit
my mom in assisted
living. She knew me,
of course, since I am
part of her past,
but none of our conversation
made sense.
It was sad for me
but she was happy
wherever she had gone
to while I was there.

So, I got up early
to walk my sadness
away. I started
up the street,
looked up,
and saw the almost
full moon bright
in the blue sky,
hanging in there
until the last
possible moment.

I thought about Kylie
and how she’d asked me
when she’d get to see
her Nana Nana again.
When I said I didn’t know,
she said simply,
“I miss her.”

I miss her, too, Kiki.

The sun warmed
my back
like Kylie time
warms my heart.

I walked on.
The moon got fainter
and fainter.

Sunday Scribblings: Recipe and Poem

Growing up in a Catholic family meant no meat on Fridays. It seems that about eighty percent of our meals on that night consisted of a sauce my mom would make with some kind of fish. It was sort of like Tuna Wiggle but my mom didn't put peas in and she used a variety of canned seafood. It was pretty simple and we just called it Sauce.


Sauce

2 cups milk
2 tblsp. butter
salt and pepper
2 tblsp. corn starch
2 cans of tuna, and/or shrimp, and/or crabmeat, and/or salmon

1. Pour milk into a sauce pan.
2. Add the butter and salt and pepper
3. Bring to almost a boil.
4. In the mean time, mix the corn starch with ¼ cup of water
5. When the milk is almost boiling, stir in the corn starch mixture
6. Cook and stir until thick and bubbly
7. Add seafood
8. Serve over toast or mashed potatoes with a veggie on the side.

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Sauce

Family love
pours over us
filling in
our nooks
and crannies

sometimes whether
we want it to or not.
Our only telephone
perched on the wall
barely two feet
from my dad’s
place at the table.

When it rang
that Friday night
during supper,
I jumped up to answer.
“Hey, listen” said
my date for that night.
“I’m up at Flint’s
blowing my mind.
You want to meet
me at the dance?”

“If I’m there, I’m there.
If I’m not, I’m not.”
I responded and hung up.

All eyes stared,
all ears perked up.
I hadn’t even been out
with this guy, yet,
and, already, I’d have
to lie to my parents?

They sat there
expecting an explanation.
The phone rang again,
a slight reprieve.
“Hey, listen, you
want to go to the movies
instead? I’ll pick
you up.”

Acceptable.
I relayed that
and heads nodded,
eating resumed,
normal banter
flew back and forth
again.

He met my parents
as they were on their way
out to go bowling,
played a game of cribbage
with my brother,
then we walked
to the theater,
watched The Taming
of the Shrew,and returned home
to have hot
chocolate with my folks
and sister.

Conversation and smiles
drifted around
like the steam
wisping from our cups.

It was just another
Friday night,
another connection
of family,
another meal
of sauce
spreading it’s comfort.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

And in case you're wondering, the guy liked it so much at our house that we ended up getting married and we'll be celebrating our 39th anniversary in June.

Poetry Train and NaPoWriMo #29: Headline

Monday May 10, 2010

I've been thinking of my dad lately.  He died 13 years ago today.  When I saw this headline a couple weeks ago in the newspaper, it reminded me of an incident from when I was a kid.
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Mt. Washington Auto Road
opens for 149th season May 1

It’s still covered in white
this peak of ours
poking up into the clouds.

My dad worked
on the summit
for quite a few years.

It is woven into our lives;
every night on the news
Marty Ingstrom would

give us the weather report
from up there in his dry
voice ending with that quirky

smile. One time my dad
got to sit there with him
and we kids gathered

around the TV in the living
room feeling pretty special.
It was like knowing

a celebrity. Every time
I see the mountain
I think of my dad.

NaPoWriMo #14: Cleave Poem

Blue eyes Brown eyes
Skin like satin Skin like suede
Sitting up straight Sitting hunched over
Talking about Twilight Talking about Paul Newman
Looking forward Looking backward
Going into eighth grade Going into assisted living
Spring Winter
Michelle Nana

NaPoWriMo #13: Smoke a Dubie

Poem Starting with a Line from Norman Dubie

You wondered about skin
wrinkled by looking
at jewels

I’ll tell you about
those wrinkles
and about the jewels

the way my dad’s nose
would twitch
when my mom cooked
spaghetti

my brother’s grin
after telling a joke

my sister, Nancy’s, gloat
my sister, Sally’s, tear-filled
eyes after being teased

my hands dealing cards
these jewels of life
these wrinkles of living

Poetry Train: Homecooked Poems

A couple weeks ago, ReadWritePoem challenged us to write 5 poems about one subject so I remembered back to when I was a kid and the comforting foods my mom would make so I wrote five poems about memories of eating those foods.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

1) Chinese Pie

We grew up eating this about once a month but, when my son was going to school in Florida, a friend of his had never heard of it so it might not be as well known as I thought.

1. Peel, dice, and cook about 5 potatoes. When they are soft, mash them with butter and milk.
2. Saute about a quarter cup of onions in olive oil then add a pound of hamburg and saute them together.
3. Open a can of creamed corn.
4. In a casserole dish, layer the meat/onion mixture, the creamed corn, and top with the mashed potatoes.
5. Bake for a half hour or so or until bubbly.

Chinese Pie

My mother is mashed potatoes,
the cotton batting
of our family,
covering us
like a blanket.

So, on this night
when Nancy
starts laughing
when my brother
is getting hell

our father sends
her outdoors
until she can
control herself.

I face the window
and can see Nancy’s
face as she looks
in at us. She opens
her mouth
filled with corn
and hamburg

and lets it overflow
out onto her chin.
I try to ignore her
but can feel
myself beginning
to laugh. I pick
up my milk

and clamp my mouth
on the rim
but there is Nancy
making faces
in the window. I
guffaw and milk
splatters everywhere.

My dad throws down
his napkin
and retreats
to the living room
and the news.

My mom opens the door
for Nancy. We clean
up the mess. My mom
gives each of us
a hug.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

2) Graham Cracker Cake


1. Whip a pint of whipping cream until it starts getting thick.
2. Add about a ½ cup of sugar and keep whipping
3. Add about 2 tablespoons of powdered chocolate and keep whipping.
4. Then put a graham cracker on a dish and spread some of the whipped cream on it.
5. Continue layering the crackers with the cream until it’s about 3 inches high.
6. Use the rest of the whipped cream to frost the sides and pile it on top.


Graham Cracker Cake

The building
of children
is like erecting
a Graham Cracker cake
one careful layer
at a time.

Our kitchen table
was round
and I sat
next to my dad
the perfect place
for the first born
the one with his blue
eyes and curls.

Conversation twisted
in and around
like the scents
of the food
we were rapidly
devouring.

As a fifth-grader
I was the expert
on all things
and if I didn’t know
the answer,
my dad did.

Then Timmy asked
a question
and I opened my mouth
to show off
that I knew
the simple
answer

but my dad
answered first
and he was wrong.
I closed my mouth
and sat quietly
my heart
a crippled bird.

My mom brought
the dessert
to the table
and I noticed
that it was lopsided
and crooked.

I ate my piece
slowly
and wondered why
the whipped cream
tasted a bit sour.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

3) Whoopie Pies

Filling

1 cup milk
5 tbls. flour
1 cup sugar
1 tbls. vanilla
1 cup shortening

1. Cook milk and flour over medium heat until it forms a ball and then cool.
2. In a bowl put sugar, vanilla, and shortening. Mix
3. Add to cooked mixture. Cool.

Pies

½ cup cocoa
½ cup hot water
½ cup sour milk
2 eggs
1 ½ cups sugar
½ cup shortening
1 tsp. vanilla
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. baking powder
2 ¾ cups flour
¼ tsp. salt

1. Mix cocoa and hot water together.
2. Add the rest of the ingredients, mixing well.
3. Spoon onto a greased baking sheet in desired size.
4. Cook for 12 minutes at 350˚.
5. Cool before filling


Whoopie Pies

Nancy was our middle child
always second best,
bursting at the seams and wild.

Late for supper, full of guile,
feeling like a guest
even though she was our middle child.

My father’d sit at the table, riled,
“Do you have to be such a pest?
Why are you so wild?”

Nancy just sat there and smiled.
“Why can’t you be like the rest?”
She replied, “Because I’m the middle child.”

And there sat the whoopie pies piled
on a plate with the filling pressed
between the layers, bursting and wild.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

4) Sauce

Growing up in a Catholic family meant no meat on Fridays. It seems that about eighty percent of our meals on that night consisted of a sauce my mom would make with some kind of fish. It was sort of like Tuna Wiggle but my mom didn't put peas in and she used a variety of canned seafood. It was pretty simple and we just called it Sauce.

2 cups milk
1 tblsp. butter
salt and pepper
2 tblsp. corn starch
2 cans of tuna, and/or shrimp, and/or crabmeat, and/or salmon

1. Pour milk into a sauce pan.
2. Add the butter and salt and pepper
3. Bring to almost a boil.
4. In the mean time, mix the corn starch with ¼ cup of water
5. When the milk is almost boiling, stir in the corn starch mixture
6. Cook and stir until thick and bubbly
7. Add seafood


Sauce

Family love
pours over us
filling in
our nooks
and crannies

sometimes whether
we want it to or not.
Our only telephone
perched on the wall
barely two feet
from my dad’s
place at the table.

When it rang
that Friday night
during supper,
I jumped up to answer.
“Hey, listen” said
my date for that night.
“I’m up at Flint’s
blowing my mind.
You want to meet
me at the dance?”

“If I’m there, I’m there.
If I’m not, I’m not.”
I responded and hung up.

All eyes stared,
all ears perked up.
I hadn’t even been out
with this guy, yet,
and, already, I’d have
to lie to my parents?

They sat there
expecting an explanation.
The phone rang again,
a slight reprieve.
“Hey, listen, you
want to go to the movies
instead? I’ll pick
you up.”

Acceptable.
I relayed that
and heads nodded,
eating resumed,
normal banter
flew back and forth
again.

He met my parents
as they were on their way
out to go bowling,
played a game of cribbage
with my brother,
then we walked
to the theater,
watched The Taming
of the Shrew,then returned home
to have hot
chocolate with my folks
and sister.

Conversation and smiles
drifted around
like the steam
wisping from our cups.

It was just another
Friday night,
another connection
of family,
another meal
of sauce
spreading it’s comfort.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

5) Soup

1 chicken, turkey, or partridge carcass
onions
carrots
celery
basil
salt
pepper
spaghetti broken into thirds
1 can of stewed tomatoes

1. Throw a leftover chicken, turkey, or partridge (my father and brother were avid hunters) in a large pot.
2. Cover with water.
3. Dice the veggies and throw them in, too.
4. Bring to a boil and let simmer an hour or so until everything is tender.
5. Remove the carcass taking care to leave the veggies in the pot.
6. Take all the meat off and throw the rest away.
7. Return the meat to the water.
8. Bring back to a boil
9. Add dried basil, salt, and pepper to taste.
10. Add the spaghetti and boil until soft
11. Add the tomatoes.


Soup

On Sundays
we’d have our big
meal at noon
so supper
was a light affair.

On this Sunday
after Thanksgiving
we are having
my mom’s soup
and leftover rolls.

It’s a delicious soup
with onions,

(Hey Saltines,
do you wear a bra yet?”
Timmy asks Sally,
the youngest
and most sensitive.
A tear plops
into her soup.)

and sweet carrots

(“It’s okay, Sal.”
My mom puts
her arm around her.)

and meat

(My father bangs
the end of his fork
on the table,
fist around it.
“Why do you have
to make her cry
all the time?”
he says to Tim.)

and stewed tomatoes
to add a little color

(“Dad, can I use
the car to go to CCD?”
Little does he know
I’m really going
to pick up my boyfriend
for an hour of parking.
“Sure,” he says.
I smile,
that little bit of wild
red showing in my
personality.)

and salt and pepper and basil
for spiciness

(Nancy pipes up.
“I’ve kissed eight
different boys.”
My father shakes
his head.
Tim high-fives her.
My mom scowls.)

and strings of spaghetti
twirling around,

(“Whose turn
is it to wash
this week?”
“Pass the butter,
please.”
“Mom, can I go
to Rosie’s after school
tomorrow?"
“Hockey practice
starts this week
so I’ll be late.”
“Can you get
some more milk out?”
"Tim, Wanna
armwrestle?”
“I’ll clean up, now,
but dry the dishes
when I get back, okay?”)

and around
in the flavorful,
soup.

Dinner Party for Sunday Scribblings

The table is set
with Mom’s
dinnerware

you remember
the ones with
the gray roses

tipped with a blush
of pink to match
the tablecloth

slowly you begin
to materialize
first Dad

sniffing the air
to make sure
we’re not having

any spicy foods
Grampy marches in
ordering everyone

around then Nonie
(you are still so beautiful)
sits down gracefully

you hand me a plate
piled high
with donuts

and I can smell
the nutmeg
Memere and Pepere

enter quietly
like clouds and sunshine
smile, Memere!

Uncle Bob, distinguished
and Uncle George
rumpled,

drink in hand
take their places
we eat what we always

ate: fluffy mashed potatoes,
fresh string beans,
and a beef roast

we talk and laugh
and reminisce
just after the lemon

meringue pie
you start to dissipate
like the steam

rising from the coffee
cups I clean up,
do the dishes

and later nibble
on one of those
plain donuts.

NaPoWriMo Day 16: Allure, Vivid, and Perch for 3WW

We were out hunting,
the woods all golden,

two parents and four kids
walking along a skidder trail.

I spied a bird
high on his perch,

a vivid speck against the blue.
The allure too much,

my brother tried to shoot it.
The bullet flew off to another planet.

I laughed. He turned red.
“You do it, then,” he said.

I took the gun,
spread my legs to balance,

aimed up to heaven,
and pulled the trigger.

That bird fell
right at my feet,

fat and warm.

The leaves
crunched like remorse

as we quietly made our way
back out of the woods.

NaPoWriMo Day 10: The rock Queens

The Rock Queens

Michelle 9 in her horse T-shirt
Tori 8 in pink ruffled tank
bored
decided to sell rocks
one day
at camp.

They gathered them
from the neighbors’
gravel driveway,

made an Open sign
and another
with prices,

then stood there
with their purses
and smiles
as people walked by.

Who could resist?
Everyone got such a kick
out of them.

Even the neighbors
bought a couple
of their own
rocks back.

They made $23!

Such imaginations
and entrepreneurship.

Now, as they become teenagers
will they display these qualities
or will they be hidden
behind sulky faces
drained through cell phones
and ipods?

Will they ever
be this young
and old
again?

NaPoWriMo Day 7: Nicknames

The Evolution of a Nickname

The ocean,
blue sky,
sailboat

Nathan
just learning
to talk

My father-in-law,
“Say Grampa”
pronounced Grumpa

His German girlfriend
“Say danka,
come on, danka”

Nay is more interested
in watching the water,
seeing birds dive,

feeling the wind
in his face.
Later, his grandfather

kisses him goodbye.
“Bye bye, Gunka”
Nay says.

And Gunka
he has remained
to this day.

Poetry Train #10: Rocking Chair

Displaced

I remember
sitting in back
of the rocking chair
as you
soothed Nancy to sleep,
hard, black rockers
under my four-year-old
hands,
pushing to help you,
to be a part of your bonding

you humming a pretty
tune
not for me
anymore

your back
a corrugated
barrier

me drawing patterns
on the dusty rockers,
tempted to let a finger
slip underneath,
to feel tangible pain,
to have a real reason
to cry

and to have you
gather
me in your arms
once more
and rock me
on the other side
of your back.

Flame Darkness Wish for 3WW

Because I'm on vacation, I was able to check the three words nice and early. Unfortunately, what I saw was Thom's rough draft before he up and changed the words for his final draft! Too funny!
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Ricky’s Wish

Gary painted flames
on the gas tank
of Rick’s motorcycle

one fiery stroke
after another,
his hands gently

holding the brush
and the belly
of the bike

creating heat
in the darkness
of his brother’s

death. Soon
he’ll put the ashes
in the empty

right gas tank
and take Ricky
for one more ride

Ancestry for ReadWritePoem

My maternal grandmother was always a very stern woman and I love this picture of her smiling with my mom.
My grandfather, Pepere, was such a handsome man. I feel like I never really knew these grandparents because they spoke mostly French and I didn't.
Last spring there was a "Looking Back at Local History" article in the local newspaper about how my grandfather had once been in an accident and how he helped save several people. I wrote the following poem about it.
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Pepere


I never knew

my grandfather

was a hero.

I remember him

as just being there

smiling at me

like a photograph

caught in the gauze

of my memory.

I never thought

of him as a man

going to work,

playing with his kids,

telling a joke,

listening to music.

What foods did he like?

What made him laugh?

What were his dreams?

The picture I have

of him is one-dimentional,

flat, gray.

I don't know

what color shirt

he was wearing

when his car

went into the water.

I can't see the weather.

Did he scream

as he helped the women

out of the water?

Did they hug him

in thanks? Pepere,

who were

you?