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aroundtownpoem #17
in
this deep snow deep freeze
the sparrows cardinals juncos
mourning
doves many mourning
doves are hunkered down on my
porch rail awaiting
the birdseed
and sunflower seed I spread on
the back porch feeding
tray
like the homeless lined up at the
library lined up at the
overflow
shelter when we arrive with milk
bananas tangerines a tub of
chili
veggies plates of warm cornbread
©Jacqueline Jackson 2007
My maternal grandparents got their drinking water
from a well in the yard, and my disabled uncle carried it sloshing to the
house, one bucket of hard red water early every morning. I couldn’t
resist sharing this lovely little poem by Minnesota poet, Sharon Chmielarz.
New Water
All those years — almost a hundred —
the farm had hard water. Hard orange. Buckets lined in orange. Sink and tub and toilet, too, once they got running water. And now, in less than a lifetime, just by changing the well’s location, in the same yard, mind you, the water’s soft, clear, delicious to drink. All those years to shake your head over. Look how sweet life has become; you can see it in the couple who live here, their calmness as they sit at their table, the beauty as they offer you new water to drink.
Reprinted by permission of Sharon Chmielarz, whose
most recent collection of poems is The Rhubarb
King (Loonfeather Press, 2006). Copyright
© 2006 by Sharon Chmielarz. This weekly column is supported by The
Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English
at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. This column does not accept
unsolicited poetry.
Ted Kooser served as the U.S. Poet Laureate from
2004-2006. For more information, go to www.americanlifeinpoetry.org
This article appears in Feb 22-28, 2007.
