great grandson poem #1
far from any city lights here in the
central nevada high desert country
the almost cold breeze blows through
open porch windows and you burrow
deeper into the comforter the farm’s
guardian cock crows imperiously but
it’s still dark you lie seeing a black sky
studded with stars you remember
that word from a childhood ditty –
a cow, a country lane, a studded sky –
the rooster realizes his error goes
back to sleep and so do you musing
how you will sing that song to a small
round smiling face come morning when
you and the feathered songster are
awake again and everybody is ready for
singing a face like his mother’s at his age
hers like her mother’s, who is your child,
he calls you grandma in two languages
you’ll ask if there’s a word for “studded”
in french–if not let’s fashion one together
©2016 Jacqueline Jackson
This article appears in Sep 29 – Oct 5, 2016.
