Poetry Friday: The Window of Memory
That's a Wrap
Whew! National Poetry Month has ended. I survived. Ha! Actually, I consider the month a reasonable success since I learned quite a bit and found some direction for going forward. First of all, I'd like to thank this community. I think you all know how much is gained from a stroll around the Poetry Friday neighborhood. Here are a few other places that pushed me along in April:
- The Practicing Poet: Writing Beyond the Basics by Diane Lockward (this book is now at the top of my list for crafting poetry)
- The Slowdown Show hosted by Major Jackson
- Poem-a-Day
- Merely In-Progress: the substack space where I wrote reflections and tracked links of interest. If you want to have some fun, check out today's final reflection post: Treat Yourself Like a Poet.
Perspectives
In an effort keep the momentum going into May, I attended an event hosted by the Ohio Arts Council with poet, Sara Abou Rashed. What a gift! We wrote for over two hours using the art in the Riffe Gallery's current display of local artists (in this case printmaking) titled: Sequence. Since ekphrastic poetry keeps bumping into me, I thought I should write a poem about art for today's roundup. This poem is inspired by the print by Art Werger titled Another Place (featured in their mailing pictured below).
The Window of Memory
It's easy to take myself back
where she waits at the window,
smells from the kitchen
seep through the door
to her front step.
Upon our arrival
she races to the door,
it's open before
our feet hit her sidewalk,
before our car doors close;
past the marigolds,
around the manicured lawn,
behind the white fence,
up the steps,
into her warm hug.
I still can hear
laughter around the table:
the Old Maid slipped into her hand,
the last puzzle piece placed,
the final discard made to win.
Years of picnic lunches,
bologna sandwiches with butter (who knew?),
watermelon cut in squares,
a cold Coca-Cola,
all packed with love.
So many years have passed,
yet I still hear her words,
can still put myself in her kitchen,
can still see her
waiting by the window.
© Cathy L. Mere, 2024
oooh, this blog and this post have so much zip and energy...can you send me some? A time to write with other writers in an art gallery? Sign me up! That open door before feet hit the sidewalk. Oh, does that bring back memories. Our sandwiches always had, "oleo" and I still love it a bit.
ReplyDeleteGreat post.
Thank you so much. Oh my goodness! I hadn't heard the word "oleo" in so many years; it had slipped from my mind. That made me smile.
DeleteSuch vivid memories--I can see the marigolds, the fence, the puzzle, the picnic. And wow--your poem goes perfectly with the poster on the right!
ReplyDeleteThe memories are permanently sketched in my heart. It was interesting to try to write from the art we viewed and to hear the writing others created from the same piece.
DeleteThank you for the reading recommendations! I made a note to myself. Love the memories behind this poem - especially the thought of running into a warm hug! : )
ReplyDeleteI hope you enjoy them. Thanks for stopping by.
DeleteWe may not have the same memories, Cathy, but we have the same memories! I bet you know what I mean. This is a lovely portrait that you've written of that special time that will not fade! It sounds wonderful to have that chance to write at the gallery; the art is wonderful! (We had bologna and mustard!)
ReplyDeleteI understand exactly. I think that means we both have been blessed.
DeleteYour poem makes me want to wander back home in my memory and see what rises to the surface for me. My favorite photo of Mom is of her standing at the open front door. I'm sure she would welcome me in to wander through the childhood she built for me.
ReplyDelete