because while some truths lend themselves to equations, others are best described in verse

It was never quite like this,

the shallow wading pool of past, its pink
mermaid-clad collapsible sides filled
with dead grapevine Mom wrestled
from the cage-wire fence & sunk
in its bathwater depths to be made more
pliant for the working. Once I buried
a burn there, dip’t surreptitiously
from a showoff jump on Old Miss Judy’s
just-rid bike, my shiny white shin in stark
relief to the gap-black teeth of her red-
haired grandson. I remember, too, the stains
of walnuts that fell like dull tennis balls
all around the pool’s pressed grass;
a quarter a bucket all Indian summer long
while Mom cut & shaped & dried
under the shade of the bitter leaves.
I keep one of those wreaths cornered
in the utility closet under winter coats,
still, dusting its thick ribbon & fluffing
up the bow after every first frost has passed.

7 responses

  1. I loved this poem, Joanna! I could feel the wistfulness of the past, throughout! Very descriptive!!!!!

    August 18, 2015 at 2:31 pm

    • Thanks, girl! From someone who writes so strongly about her past, that’s definitely a compliment! 😉 Hope to see you very soon!

      August 25, 2015 at 10:09 am

  2. Amazing!

    August 18, 2015 at 5:28 pm

    • Thanks! 🙂

      August 25, 2015 at 10:10 am

  3. walnuts that fell like dull tennis balls – great simile.

    August 23, 2015 at 6:39 am

    • ‘Preciate it, Carl.

      August 25, 2015 at 10:11 am


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