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Victor Faesser Poem
Winter morning light filters through lace curtains,
Reaches down, spills onto the corner kitchen sink,
Through east and south facing windows.
The glass jar, the scrub brush and pad in plastic butter dish,
A down-turned, empty yogurt container,
The pink plastic rinse pan
Keep company around the sink's edges.
The dried-out, yellow dishrag
Straddles the stained white porcelain wall between
Its twin chambers. Home.
The three-track cribbage board,
Deck of blue and white checkered "Boardwalk Casino" cards,
Awaiting friendly competitors,
The gilded "Fiftieth" anniversary photo frame.
Adorned with golden bow, glass-winged butterfly,
Displayed proudly on the fireplace mantel.
The couple with their Papal Blessing,
Sharing in the holding. Home.
Morning light streams through
Aged lace curtains, into the living room,
Over the fireplace, bricks set years ago,
Solid as the blessed couple.
Solid as the Home.
She struggles with the details of conversation,
And asks, as she does each time, "Arrr you mare-eed?"
Trilling the r's, after greeting me
With her Mother's heart, "My Myzeleh Surptizeleh"
In her heavily accented German voice.
"Howv many cheel-drrren you havf?" Home.
The dated, yet functional, lime-colored shag carpet,
Symbolic of their stoic, conservative, old European ways;
The lace doily on the end table, photos of a grandchild,
A son, a daughter; and one of them, too. Home.
The pink plastic Rosary ever present
On the coffee table in front of the well-worn sofa.
Her days spent there,
Sometimes sitting, sometimes lying.
The beads close at hand, atop a book of Prayers.
Crocheted adornments on the walls,
A wooden decorator spoon,
A picture framed pair of swans,
With them all those years. Home.
Copyright © Victor Faesser | Year Posted 2017
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Details |
Victor Faesser Poem
Saturday Afternoon Before Jack’s 2nd Birthday
A Caravelle wall clock behind me
ticks away muffled minutes,
Its black pointed hands
reaching upward and downward;
The EXIT sign above the open white door
(to which is scotch taped a WELCOME notice,
in large font letters, greeting visitors to the
Pawnee County Arts Council Annual Art Show)
an unnoticed and ever present sentinel
over all who pass through;
Colored cloth coverings--
aqua, forest green, mustard,
muted pink, turquoise, summer peach,
skyandclouds, and black--
dress the worn tables;
Stark whiteandblack pencil drawings
of old farm houses;
A bouquet of flowers
white and blue, the initials
m/c and date 1979;
Gulls flying over a beach house,
in the foreground a rowboat on
a patch of sand hemmed in by tall grass;
A fruit plate and pitcher
against a chocolate background;
The Magnavox CD player
sits on top of an old up-right
CABINET GRAND made by Hobard M. Cable
of Chicago.
Its once snow-white ivory keys
stained with age, like the teeth
of an ancient smoker;
A tri-fold, white trellis displays
framed portraits of the photographer’s
two sons and daughter and a long-vacant
house in a dense wooded pasture
brightened by a lively growth of
spring wildflower
and guarded year in and year out
by gnarled trees
which have taken over a farmyard
once filled with growing children,
chickens, and Old Yeller;
Sometime last week I called my grandson, Jack,
and interrupted, briefly, the daily ritual,
With his father,
of reading at his bedtime hour,
Both of them sprawled comfortably
on the bedroom floor,
Late day’s light coming through
the east-facing window;
In the background (phone pressed
to my ear) my daughter,
Jack’s mother,
Announcing,
Jack, you have a telephone call
... it’s pa-pa;
My first “conversation” with my grandson, Jack,
Gives me great delight and much joy
knowing that his brief but well enunciated yeah
to each of my questions indicated that, yes,
He knows what pa-pa is saying;
Are you going to have a birthday party?
Yeah
Are you going to have a cake with candles?
Yeah
And ice-cream, too?
Yeah
Can pa-pa and grandma come?
Yeah
So while the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
fills the basement of the Union Bank
With strains of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons and
The Caravelle ticks away the minutes
The anticipation of my grandson’s
2nd birthday celebration tomorrow afternoon
Fills my thoughts and the
120 minutes,
While at my post at the WELCOME Table.
_____________________________________
To Jack, From pa-pa
~ April 16, 2005
Copyright © Victor Faesser | Year Posted 2017
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Details |
Victor Faesser Poem
FOR SAMANTHA
she listens well
angelic softness
innocence born in mid afternoon
of a November day
resting peacefully in
your mother's arms
your eternal home
shaped to your mother's womb
trusting in goodness
breathing, now, the universal breath
a permanent seal
to your eternal home
incarnation of all that was before
carrying forward
all yet to be
Copyright © Victor Faesser | Year Posted 2017
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