I participated in this for the first time 2 summers ago, and will be writing a poem a day to be sent to one of 31 participating poets. As I did two years ago, I will have a combination of traditional postcards and ones I've made using photographs my husband has taken. When I can, I will post the actual postcards, front and back, though that will be harder when we are on the road.
Here are my first two:
In each spoon, sun and rain.
The subtle prick of thorn, rustle
of dried cane. The roil of red
foam in an enameled pot, clink
of pint jars, lids and bands
seal out ripe decay, keep
the killing frost at bay.
|Wedding party, Osh, Kyrgyzstan, 2009 photo by N. Halin|
Not My Grandmother
She reminds me of her, the old
country on her tongue until the end,
the taste of tea slurped from a spoonful
of jam. She doesn't speak Yiddish,
never emigrated from Poland or Russia.
She is not my grandmother
but I danced with her at the wedding.
I was six again, all my great
aunts and uncles spoiled me, slipping
stories like candy from deep pockets.