2pm. Poem 12.

Pantry Closet

She taught through her actions
not words.

She showed silently,

“There is not enough
unless there are two or three
of each of everything”

This was the scarcity
of living on the other
side of the tracks
in the ’30’s… the ’40’s…

It held on, didn’t let go
clung like field cotton remnants
to socks and shoelaces,
raised fingerblisters from
pickin, pickin all day everyday
until every bush was cleared.

This is the scarcity of cannin
tumadus n black eye peas
peaches n plumbs
from her gardens and trees,
the scarcity of hoards
of store boughts,
of nothing gets thrown away

the scarcity
that sent her frenzied
when after Dad passed
I took to her Pantry Closet
with giant black trash bags
for anything expired

the scarcity that pulled
clear hot tears from her gut
as dozens and dozens of cans
and jars and boxes
went to the garbage
along with her notion
that if anyone ever mentioned
they wanted something,
she had it there to give

the scarcity that kept her
up in her chair for three days
“tryin’a figure out
how to get it all back”

.