POETRY

Inside the red leather memory book
is a creased gray and white picture,
the little girl stares fiercely up at me,
her blond hair spikes from a dark barrett,
a shadow shows below one eye,
she tries to hide a broken bottle from the camera,

I know the tire store in the background,
is made of green tin,
has sooty flat windows
that break from a baseball,
that magic jewels are made
from thick pieces of broken glass,
shards of alley bottles--beer, coke, orange crush,
and that sometimes she was lucky enough
to bleed on the clear pieces
that turned to rubies in the sun

Pub. May 1993
Midland Review
University of Oklahoma

IN THE PARTY ROOM AT THE NURSING HOME

Grandmother sits quietly
a bird at the edge of a round stone bath--
a little frayed, eyes bright with 102 years
of living, but she doesn't know my name
shows no recognition when I lean
down and kiss her feathery cheek

She looks up instead
a chick waiting to see what her parents have brought today
I give her a sweet kalach, filled with the summer
tartness of raspberries

She pops it in her mouth, eyes darting
from my face to my fingers looking for more
then licks her lips and sucks her tongue
smiling around the little black seeds

Her eyes grow dreamy--she rocks a little
I think she remembers raspberries
perhaps walking the woods with a boy
picking hot red morsels, juice dripping
down their chins, air sweet with bees
and purple daisies. I see all her years
come together in the moment of remembering--
savoring the taste of raspberries

Pub. 1994 Looking Out the Window 1994 Anthology, The Writer's Place





THE INHERITANCE

You were sent to French shores at 21
a dentist serving your country
fixing the horrors of ammunition
trained in healing not in war

Your son flew over Japanese shores
the only one to carry on your name
shooting pictures not enemies
flying reconnaissance diving
low in the nose of an unarmed plane

No one saw you cry when they came
to the door to tell you "missing-in-action"
no one could imagine your pain of not knowing
living with his portrait and medallions
framed upon the cherrywood coffee table.

Your first-born grandson flew to Southeast Asia
you fought back tears he fought back Viet Cong
and lived in the stench of burning flesh and wasted life.

Today your first great-grandchild was born
I hug Crisco-slick newborn warm
on my tummy and feel a chill
"It's a boy"
Copyright Annette Grunseth 1997

JASON AT 23

He hums along,
days and nights passing him by,
a car on a cross country trip,
all the windows closed.


Pub. May 1993 Word of Mouth Stevens Point, WI

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Rose Of Sharon