Originally published in LLL US Western Division’s Connections #72, July/August 1997
I often take my daily neighborhood walk in the summer during the Canadian “supper hous,†between 5 and 6 PM. I smell what’s cooking on the many stoves and grills and in the many ovens in my suburban neighborhood of Dartmouth, Nova Scotia. Mmmmm. Smells like meatloaf at the LaFlammes’, steaks on the O’Keefes’ barbeque, and pizza at the Glynns’. Probably fish chowder at the Boudreaus’, crab cakes for those O’Hara boys, and fried chicken at the McFarlands’. And maybe I’d better get started on the sweet-and-sour chicken my family’s having (since we usually eat at a more American 7 PM).
(Continued)
Originally published in LLL US Western Division’s Connections #74, November/December 1997
In the 1940s, my father would hitchhike from college in California to Cleveland, Ohio, to visit his sweetheart, my mother. He couldn’t offer to pay the driver for gas, but he could offer something else. He carried a handmade sign that he held up to each passing car. It said “Good Company.â€
(Continued)
Originally published in LLL of Ohio’s The Circle, 1989
Sway and sway
Two step, dip
Sway and sway again;
Cheek to cheek
Every night
The perfect partner on the floor.
(Continued)
Originally published in LLL of New Mexico’s Enchantment
Two loaves of bread in each batch.
One loaf fresh, hot, and buttered for us
The other into the freezer to wait.
(Continued)
Originally published in LLL of New Mexico’s Enchantment
I never got to meet you,
Little, tiny almost-child;
You slipped away
To the stars and the moon
And didn’t come back
To tell Mommy how beautiful they were.
(Continued)
I had always been saying,
“I have one son and a baby.â€
You were still so little
Even though you could stand
And yell and play.
(Continued)
Originally published in LLL of New Mexico’s Enchantment, Winter 1986
I didn’t know about him for a long time.
It had been an afternoon–an ordinary summer afternoon,
August 9, 1963;
I was home in the kitchen,
My mom was chopping something.
Patrick Kennedy had just died,
The President’s little baby boy,
I told my mother it made me sad.
She stopped.
(Continued)
Originally published in LLL of Texas’s Ten-Gallon Tidings, Fall 1993
I stared out
Past the drapes
Past the tears
Past a layette I guess
I won’t be needing
To the mailbox.
(Continued)
All three boys were in our tree
When suddenly
At some command
They reappeared
In the front yard hammock.
(Continued)
There were grapes and granola bars, rice cakes, and jam
Little bags of popcorn and sandwiches of ham
Peanut butter crackers and bagels and cheese
And everything I love to eat in piles up to my knees!
But my mommy said, “No!â€
Not before we all go!
That good stuff is all for the trip!â€
(Continued)
