30 Pieces of the Past

[DeniseD]

April 1st: Dance Lessons
April 2nd: Dance Like an Egyptian
April 3rd: Magic Time
April 4th: Daughter at Sea
April 5th: Certain Women
April 6th: The Place Between Light and Dark
April 7th: Fire
April 8th: Haiku
April 9th: First Love F's You Up
April 10th: To My Children
April 11th: Braids
April 12th: Mimi (Grandma Flo)
April 13th: Grandpa
April 14th: You Decide
April 15th: Mommy
April 16th: Stunted Growth
April 17th: For The Southington High Lunch Lady - 1970
April 18th: Outer Limits
April 19th: Arlene
April 20th: American Sentence #1
April 21st: American Sentence #2
April 22nd: Grandma's Light
April 23rd: Grandpa's Dark
Apirl 24th: American Sentence #3
April 25th: American Sentence #4
April 26th: How I Got Even With Mommy
April 27th: Sister Love
April 28th: American Sentence #5
April 29th: American Sentence #6
April 30th: American Sentence #7


Dance Lessons

Sunday mornings I’d sit on the radiator
in my Grandma’s kitchen and watch
as she prepared spaghetti sauce for dinner.
I hoped my Grandfather would come
downstairs in gray pants and his black sweater
because that meant he was leaving
to meet my uncle at the bakery
or to play Bocce with friends.

On those mornings
my grandmother would take the pins
out of her hair, shake her head letting
her dyed red curls fall loose.
She’d fiddle with the radio until she found
some rock and roll, strip off her navy dress,
hold the wooden spoon between her teeth,
like a rose. She'd kick off her shoes,
grab my hands and lead me to
the black and yellow dance floor.

We’d spin around and around through song
after song, princesses in pink lace slips.
After a while, she’d take a swig
from a bottle of wine, get dressed
and pin up her hair. She'd grab my shoulders,
look me straight in the eyes and whisper,

“don’t tell your grandfather.

[kristalynn]

Nice memory, I love how Grandma's apparently pent up wildness comes out.

[Mittens]

Sweet start! Makes me wonder why Grandma hides all the fun when Grandpa's around. Good luck this month!
~Laura

[Donner]

Hi, Denise,

Engaging telling of what happens when traditional expectations (nicely shown through the grandmother making the Sunday spaghetti dinner) meet modern times. Perhaps the grandfather loosened up and dropped that black sweater when he played Bocce. I also liked how you show that we don't really change on the inside even as we age on the outside - we're always those princesses in pink lace slips.

Donner

[anenome]

An atmospheric start that is both satisfying and fraught with what is unanswered, good luck with the rest of the month!

[JFN]

Denise, what a lovely secret moment between granddaughter and grandmother to capture in a poem. I like the literal and figurative letting down of the hair. Enough is left unsaid for the reader to draw their own conclusion.

John

[5th column]

Hello Denise. A well observed memory told wit the simplicity required to make it effective.

Trot on.

5th

[Mimic_Octopus]

Happy NaPo, 5th!

It's the details that bring this piece dancing into life. The wooden spoon between the teeth like a dagger is both a sharp memory and a nice bird-flip to boring domestic work. Awesome start.

[new leaf]

This is a terrific memory, beautifully drawn; I hope there will be more from your Gran among your pieces.

[Stagyrite]

Hi Denise, nice to meet you, look forward to pooping over now and again over the course of April. This is a good start, it's a well-drawn picture, probably with more questions than answers, but that's maybe more a strength than a weakness.

See you around,

John

[DeniseD]

When you were thirteen you proclaimed yourself King
of the Cousins. But, we already knew that. Christmas Eve
you'd pound your fists on the table shouting, "I want boiled ham,
I want boiled ham." And while the rest of us, your subjects,
pushed baccala and dandelion greens around our plates,
you sat in the corner of the dining room with a lopsided
grin on your face eating a ham and cheese sandwich.
And you always had to walk ahead us on the way
to Midnight Mass. Sometimes I, second
in line for the throne, tried to walk with you,
but you'd give me an elbow in the ribs or stomp on my foot.
That year I let you be number one, but not
for the reasons you think.

Last Thanksgiving we were sitting cross-leg on the floor
playing Slap Jack. "I can dance like an Egyptian," you said.
"Wanna see." Without turning your head you slid
your neck front to back, left to right, front to back, left to right,
all the while your brown eyes locked with mine.
"If you tell anyone, I'll break your arm," you said.

We lost touch after a while, me stuck in my circle,
you lost in drugs. Today at your memorial,
I wasn't thinking about bruised ribs or an addict.
I was remembering a teenage boy sharing a secret
with his little cousin, a boy who knew how important
it is to make a girl feel as grand as Cleopatra.

[Dunc]

Denise

Yo, babe! Another year, another NaPo, hein?

Dance Lessons - Now that IS a colourful memory - and a splendid tale.

Dance Like An Egyptian - sorting a bag of mixed memories of a complex cousin, and not a dull word in it.

Keep 'em coming!

Regards / Dunc

[5th column]

I'll make a more coherent comment later but for now I'll just say how much I'm looking forward to seeing Stagyrite "pooping over now and again" - I know. It was a typoo....

[DeniseD]

Your dog, Nemo, positioned himself in the center
of our circle, stretched out on his belly, back legs
at twelve o'clock, front legs at six. He shimmied
from one of us to the next pausing
only when he was certain he could stop the clock.

That night he chose me, the mother who forgot
how her daughter's eyes morph from green
to blue to gray, who fears she will have to punch
another hole in your belt.

When I felt the realness of fur in my hand,
time stilled and I remembered
that you are still here, fighting
with me over bathroom blinds
that I leave closed,
and you open, because light
you say, changes everything.

[DeniseD]

Somewhere between the Christmas
you bought my brothers backscratchers
and the day you said you couldn't bond
with my baby, I learned to stand straight
on liquid layers.

I can walk in the ocean until I can't see
land. The water is a hundred feet deep,
enormous waves break
around me, but I'm not afraid.
I let salt seep through skin
to heart, brain, gut.

When I'm ready, I make my way
back to the beach,
grab my phone and ask if you need
anything at the store.