mrs. kindle

If I had too many Canada geese, or
Crooked teeth
Or a room when I was a kid, pickled beets, potatoes in the cellar
Brown dead leaves in November visiting Mrs Kindle
 
Who had a ticking windup alarm clock to tell time with
Ticking away, three hours too late, two hours too early, asking us kids  for the time
And she did have a phone it was a heavy ancient black instrument, her hand could  barely hold  the receiver  up and would call one of us to come and for a thin  dime  get us to
Use the can opener on an undisclosed can of campbells tomato soup or
Get us to open  some pickled beets she canned in 1956 or something
And offering us some beets, or just needed to talk for several hours.  She only needed one of us children. We were graced to go, to listen, to hear about ancient times.
then going to the bay store to buy a package of hamburg
She would open the hamburg
And give to the cats on the floor.
The house leaned, its doors scraped when you opened the door on the porch, its walls leaned
You could see her ninety year old bones through her dress.

Reviews

[h d e rushin]

this image sticks in my head; the one of power, where only poems do justice to beet juice and
black heavy phones. What I mean is that out of context these items hold little power, but
in the context of poetry they become possessions. Existential possessions.

I saw my elementary school teacher last summer and she remembered me right off. Called me
by my whole name. I thought for the rest of the day how moral an act that was. Memory and
moral earnestness sound the same my friend...

well done...dana

[Ranger Nadaly]

Awesome beginning! Completely pulled me in