She
The Beatles sang, “There are places I remember”
while some are gone, none remain
like childhood places
Her house by the ponds
at the cusp of the world
is a golden place
Doors to Narnia through curious closets
dungeon rooms in the basement
a pool table where I learned to play left-handed
and cousins like brothers
hiding in the attic of the barn
The house still stands
but it’s empty now
without her
She
who cut my hair
cornsilk curls on the beauty shop floor
who sang my name more sweetly
than it’s been sung before or since
who opened my eyes when we sat by the bay window
to welcome the world
“Good morning sun.”
“Good morning ponds.”
“Good morning birds.”
“Good morning sky.”
who fried frog legs in a skillet at one o’clock in the morning
a dream of hot oil and animal meat
and of her, bathed in incandescence
who put my grandfather’s lucky buckeye in my hand
because she knew
I would need something to hold on to
who visited my home in North Carolina
sat at my table
drinking decaf coffee
and telling me stories
About Irwin, her father
who traveled in the long ago west
to places I’ve been
About Alma, her mother
who was a teacher
like me
And how
present or not
they walk with us
and in us
as she walks in me now
For Lois Stammen (6/12/22 – 2/7/23) who passed peacefully down at the home.
