Route 414Up mountains, past landmarksRoute 414 by ~freerangepenguin
like the old Odlewood Inn
and Nap-A-Sack Lane, the rocks casting
deer-shadows on the elbows around Morris,
and the place where trains have vanished
and the railroad-tie-and-wire rails
lend the hills a rusting frown,
through Slate Run
to Cammal,
in these shaded spaces with the dying
seedlings of our blight-doomed hemlocks -
the rumble of frack trucks.
PrednisonePopping PrednisonePrednisone by ~freerangepenguin
made me bitchy,
made me breathe,
made my buttocks blossom suddenly
into cellulite and stretch marks,
made me cry,
half-crazed with hunger -
almost made me leave.
But because you held my hand
when we walked through that store
in the mall I used to shop in,
and I saw
237 pounds
in that tall mirror beside those
skinny jeans,
all I saw was the sensuous curves
all the best roller coasters are made of.
My Mother & Her TwinFor my mother and her Twin:My Mother & Her Twin by ~freerangepenguin
On seeing a photo of old canning jar lids laying useless on a counter, awaiting new life, I was transported back to Ann Bridgers' kitchen, where rough-hewn boards formed a lattice of glass jars in shades of mint and water, filled with everything a cook's heart could pine for - home-preserved effort from last year's garden, honey from the hive in the yard under the lilac, herbs and wild things dried whole and curled more strangely than the cats weaving through the rafters, waiting for the rattle of victuals on tin.
It was a child-free chapel of pickles, beets and strawberry jam, pie filling and apple cider vinegar
Sta.sh
