24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
1) The smiling little girl;
She grew up to sing …
“Banana Cream Dream” pie is a precursor to much more than a treat.
It is a marker of simpler times.
Not decadent or overly sweet.
It evokes memories made by hand.
It must be eaten in the week.
Bananas can be smooth and luxurious.
Power packed with energy.
Cream and shaved almonds are blended in its allure.
I’ve traded the richness of a cake for pie.
Marking my maturation and graduation.
From a birthday celebration all grown up.
After 41 years on this earth there is so much
More I want to know and I’ve cone to appreciate.
I think I’ll be satisfied with just one slice.
If I can share a bite with you,
It’s perfect really, extra nice .
Shoot the Moon
1.
I was four years old the summer
when astronauts landed on the moon.
My brothers and I
knelt close to our black and white screen
for hours.
I was excited because they were excited.
But the actual moon walk took place
after midnight local time.
I couldn’t stay awake.
and was so pissed that no one woke me up to see it.
2.
Later my family was discussing a trip
we had taken to the zoo.
My little brain mixed up the words
“zoo” and “moon.”
Soon I was picturing tunnels under
the surface of the moon
filled with cages of tigers and zebras.
For a long time, I was convinced,
inside my own head,
that I, a four-year-old child,
had been aboard a mission to moon.
3.
In school
the teachers would roll out
the big television sets on carts
whenever something big was happening
on one of the missions to the moon.
One time we got to watch a splashdown.
“Splashdowns are my favorite part,”
I assured my first-grade teacher.
As a teacher now
I realize
the TVs were not for us
or for any educational value.
The teachers just wanted to watch it themselves.
4.
My brothers were into model rockets.
They built them from kits, inserted engines,
and shot them off.
I was always part
of the ground recovery crew.
One year we took a trip out west
in our old station wagon
pulling a camper trailer.
We saw a sign for the Estes Factory,
the very kits my brothers made.
My dad pulled into the lot,
and they gave a tour
just for our family.
At the end, we got to shoot off a rocket.
This time,
I got to press the button.
At least, that is how I remember it.
I
Dreams of cattle in my room
As I wake before the dawn
I see my breath form vapour clouds
And slink downstairs to put my clothes on
II
It’s warmer near the living room fire
Yet cool enough I do not tarry
I get changed behind the couch
Hiding from TV Anchor Norm Perry
III
Stoke the stove to heat the water
Breakfast must be skipped today
Time to search the neighbourhood
For the cows that got away
Short bread cookie tin
Planting the azalea
She dug up cow bones
The marrow rotting
In to the earth
Rinsed in the sink
Hoping to impress
Her grandsons
A forensic moment
Placing the bones
In an old cookie tin
Tempted to dig again
Baked a pie instead
Glancing at the tin
The old woman smiled
One day a good place
To keep my ashes
TobeTT # 21
Deep into the canyon, the sun drove its fading light
Between the gathered concrete walls it reached, like some child stretching behind the sofa to get a long-loved toy that has slipped just too far. An inch just too far…
She nestled in the murky dawn,
Shivering.
The night had curtained joy so long,
Lingering.
The cold wind, merciless,
Whistling.
The stars, her only warmth,
Twinklling.
Frigid fingers ‘round her nest,
Icicling.
The air, itself, held bite,
Prickling.
Many passed her desperate state,
Not noticing.
No comfort came.
But dimly breathed the sun…
Despite the darkness all around
She knew that night was nearly done.
Repelling thoughts of pointlessness, she stirred,
Lifting notes to meet the dawning hope,
There amidst the frigid winter deep,
Her bare-remembered melody of spring.
Calling things that aren’t, as though they were.
Memories of My Mother
Talking to your friend, Mickey and Joan and I watching.
You said to your friend, “I always said when I grew up
I was going to have five children born two years apart,
and they’re all going to have black hair and blue eyes.”
Then, motioning to us, “And there stand three kids with
brown hair and brown eyes!”
It was my first gut punch.
I was six, maybe seven years old.
There’s no need.
It’ll never be noticed on a galloping horse.
The kids were asking you questions about your life.
You said when Mike was born, you and Daddy
really wanted a boy.
And when Moni was born, you both really wanted a girl.
Pointing at me, they asked “What did you want
when she was born?”
It didn’t matter, you said. You already had one of each.
Later, when I said you had embarrassed me, you asked,
What should I have said?
“You should have said you wanted Me!”
And you scoffed and said, “Oh, Posh Tish!”
And walked away.
I remember what street we were on.
We were talking about being safe around men.
I suppose you thought you were giving life advice.
You said you’d rather be killed than raped.
What I heard was that you’d rather I be killed than raped.
You chortled – yes, chortled is the right word –
and said, “There’ll be a war in twenty years.
Lots of baby boys are being born.”
It went all over me, that you would say,
that I was raising my sons
to die young in a war.
How was that even thinkable to you?
I touched a spider, yesterday as he sat on a Mini Cooper BMW, as happy as buzzing bee.
I touched him for good luck.
I thought he was a money spider, not a Union Jack supporter or Brexit negotiator in fact.
I questioned whether he was he a sign of what was to come, perhaps a car we would pursue, or was he only a sign of good luck as he could be nothing less and this was something I knew.
All rights reserved copyright (c) 2019 Natasha Vanover
“Childhood” by Mandy Austin Cook
She’s still there
the little girl with all of the happy comforting memories
the one who climbed with teddy to curl around the cradle of her favorite tree all day
to read Lucy Maud Montgomery’s musings
to experience the liveliness of the friendly forest.
the breeze chuckling through the dogwood blossoms
so it could tease and tousle her sun-kissed hair
you know her. whether you think you do or not
the child from the farm who never met a stranger in an animal
her first love was affectionate little ducklings
she didn’t see the difference between wild or tame
with the support of the sunshine smiling on her cheek
she is from where I draw strength
the girl scout surrounded by trust and campfires
cabins and laughter
because with her magical knack to value the good
and the firey stubbornness that knows she is magical
that young lady can do anything.