Pockets
In the bucket
under the carport
is a lightbulb.
She placed it there
so she wouldn’t forget.
In her jacket pocket
she kept a jar of “cinnomen”
as she called it, this woman from the bayou,
to keep away “the bad.”
In the other pocket we found
a shrivel up beet.
And the hole in the elbow
of her jacket was a testament
of her everyday ceremony,
drinking her coffee
on the porch
with her elbow
on the arm
of the wooden rocker her
grandfather made
and no one ever
refinished.
She told us stories of elk
in the meadow where she
moved to raise her children.
They said it was a tremor
that took her.
And in the quiet
as I drink my coffee
leaning on the arm of
the rocker my great grandpa
crafted and no one ever refinished,
I feel her hugs,
this woman of the bayou,
in the jacket I wear with the
shriveled beet and the cinnomen
in the pockets.
What a beautifully told story! I enjoyed it so very much, thank you!
Oh, thank you. I appreciate your kind words.
Awww, thank you. I appreciate your words.
Thank you for Pockets! and for your drawing with ALL your poems contatned!!!
I feel this, the protection of her jacket with the smell of cinnomen. she is someone who endures!
Oh, thank you so much. Your words touch my heart. Thank you.
Beautifully captured Lexanne. Thank you for sharing her. Hugs
Nice story. I particularly enjoyed the strong sense of family continuity.
Is this a collage of your work, printed out? if so even more cool!