~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The needle pricks,
not fabric~
but the space between my ribs.
A threadbare heart,
pulled taut,
threatening to snap
with every awkward tug.
I am not like Mother;
I am no seamstress~
just a woman
with frayed edges
and hands that fumbles
with mending.
Each missed stitch
leaves a gap~
a tiny wound
where the light slips in,
unasked for.
And still,
I knot the thread,
bite it clean,
press my palm
to the uneven seam
Feelin’ stitchy is an old school term meaning feeling out of sorts. Today, the phrase implies a sense of enthusiasm or passion for embroidery and related crafts.
you may read a related memoir vignette at poetrysoup.com/short_stories/feelin_stitchy_13648
When Lydia and I
resolved to climb that apple tree together
it was over -
not all at once, I still had a child’s love
for shiny distractions,
but when her long bare legs
arched over my eyes to gain the highest branch
it was over,
it was over next Spring, next-door girl,
next school term, next crush,
next hopeless infatuation.
O Lydia.
I hope you can find that naiveté again,
and that your apple tree has not died,
then perhaps in your mind's eye
you will climb it once more.
FILLE JOLIE
I see the tall apartments as we pass
We all shudder, slowing to a halt
The bus conductor turns and stares
As he stops to collect more fares
This stop-start ride is not his fault
The Place d’Etoile packed with cars
I am off to start a new school term
And almost ready to face the world
It’s 1960 and the times are changing
Career choices soon need arranging
As a young woman, not just a girl
And my independence I do affirm
I will stay to work in this exciting city
Paris also can offer varied recreation
My parents still living up in Normandy
Little villages always full of bonhomie
But my future is more than anticipation
And Gilles said he thought me pretty
The bus has almost reached Pont Neuf
Now yet another day of boring lessons
See the grown up people sitting here
Not everyone has varied lives, I fear
I just hope I’ll make good impressions
Whether as an aristocrat or mere serf
When Lydia and I
resolved to climb that apple tree together
it was over -
not all at once, I still had a child’s love
for shiny distractions
but when her long bare legs
arched over my eyes to gain the highest branch
it was over,
it was over next Spring, next girl next door,
or next school term, next crush.
The following year Lydia and I climbed over a fence
one we had hitherto not climbed -
it was then that I knew this is never over,
not this year nor the next, not for a lifetime,
not until a poets shaky hand writes about
apple trees and climbed fences.
Maybe there was hay in the corn field, maybe the sun
smelled of new mown hay?
Maybe the flaxen scent of young love is the very seed
of all that comes next.
I like to think of those sweet stalks, imagine
a stem of straw between my teeth
something to savor still on a sunny porch
while on the down slide of this ride,
I hope you also can find that naiveté again,
that your first apple tree has not died,
I hope you climb it once more in your mind’s eye
like I can, both Lydia and I.
The beginning
When I went to school, it was only on religion
Christianity! Jesus with his cross and Danial fighting
a giant ogre, none of the pupils, believed any of this
yet it was entertaining stuff while we wait for
the school term to end so we could jump on our bikes
and play cowboy and Indians.
But what though as a child sticks lately, I have been
thinking of the origin of religion it must go back
thousands of years long before Christianity is there
a beginning, or is it all man’s fear of death?
Perhaps not, once a word was spoken but mankind
forgot, the memory persisted, and we have been
looking for the truth ever since.
It is just four days before our exams begin.
So, as usual, my mind is stormy,
Going crazy with sums and facts and myths.
While a part of my brain is trying to sing and dance,
A compass inside is drawing circles and bi sectors.
The other part of my mind is trying to solve algebra (like a detective).
During all this time, I’m juggling with the colonial era and the world wars,
While in one place, nanotechnology peels graphene from graphite.
Like a tornado, yards of poetry swirl all over my head,
Trying to get it all in order. I make 50-100 questions a day,
While turning a 7 page long lesson into a 1 page long note.
It’s quite like a hurricane to study so hard,
About until 11 o’clock at night.
But it’s well worth it.
11/11/2018
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