Annmarie Lockhart, editor of vox poetica, has been reading and writing poetry since she could read and write. A lifelong Bergen County resident, she lives two miles from the hospital
where she was born.
Kay Middleton's last poem to appear here was Juxtaposition, published as part of Contributor Series 10: Silken Rags, in December 2011.
Will not drown
By Kay Middleton
Tell me again how you discovered pine thick red beams supporting your house, how you ran your hand over the rough sawn timbers and offered thanks and admiration to the tree and craftsman that gave of themselves a hundred years ago by the bay where life is tenuity and risk, where failure and loss abound. Tell me how you find it fitting to stay and no matter the storm you will not drown, not today.
Tell me again about her and the bags of worn flip-flops you dragged to the car, to the thrift store. Reach forward, shout over loud music and the tabletop where I do not order pity or platitudes maybe peace, acceptance of your joy-filled grief but my response is silent and I cannot be sure you know how I know the evening ended too early. Your sorrow, your tomorrow the dovetailed intersection. Tell me you will not drown, not today.
Tell me again about the storage unit in California. And I'll tell you about my mother who came in a dream to me, & told me you would find an antique dress form there, long forgotten. Look! She sighed and touched the laces reverently, so lovely, keep it, she implored. But it isn't mine, two sizes small and I don't sew. Drape a scarf-pin a broach she said her eyes never left the thing in the dream. I knew she was dead these many years. I savored the few stolen moments and told myself to thank you tomorrow for the story of California that brought her back. And how we will not drown.
Really wonderful, engaging poem!
Reply to this
Three strong stanzas. I like it. Go KM. Marty.
Reply to this
Wow, what a story. Nostalgic and beautiful.
Reply to this