memories

Aunt Flo

lillian10 Comments

Old Glory flaps in the breeze
red and white stripes unfurled,
grommets clank against steel pole
as I walk by in a rush.

You loved the beauty of our flag.
You actually lived the flag.
The greatest generation, and you a woman,
a Naval Commander among them all.

Young girls should know your name.
Short in stature, you stood tall
saluted boys and turned them back into men
healed so many, traveled so far.

So many times we sat at your table
ate lemon meringue pie
and rolled the Yahtze dice
the infamous photo above our heads.

You and Admiral Nimitz, side by side.
One honored hero, known by many.
The other, slipped through time
a silver haired, kind old woman.

The wind stops, the clanking too
and I stand still remembering you
in that faded black and white photo
of your glory days.

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Florence M. Frazier,  1915 – 2010. Former Commander in the U.S. Navy. Photo is from Aunt Flo’s visit to us in Boston, celebrating her 90th birthday. At our urging, she brought one of her military caps. We took her to the nearby Charlestown Navy Yard and visited this ship.  As she boarded and as she walked on deck, every military personnel we met saluted her.  It was an absolutely magical day!
Admiral Chester W. Nimitz was Commander in Chief of the U.S. Naval Fleet in World War II.

Disappearing Hood

lillian8 Comments

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Wrap around porch with hanging swing
iced tea chats and potted plants
playing dolls with Junie Z
on a summer night lit by fireflies.

Sliding glass door shut ramrod tight
concrete slab with charcoal grill
removed from prying eyes.

Two steps to double locked doors
reined in yard with triple garage
and wooden horse blinder fence.

The word neighbor? Gone.
It hopped a moving van,
took a right on the expressway
and drove right out of our lexicon.

 

Elegy for Childhood

lillian18 Comments

Do not grasp or fear the sifting sand
savor instead, sweet memories.

Tippee cups and imagined friends
popsicle sticky smiles.

Unabashed big bigger Balooka bubbles
popped on freckled nose.

High pitched yells with a Mary Jane stomp
knock knock jokes giggled silly.

Proscenium now disappeared, curtains askew
props and costumes gone.

Mourn not the little ones of yesteryear,
loose your hand and revel now.

Their roots are strong, let go the sieve
tis time to change the scene

beach

WP Writing 201 prompts: the word “flavor”, enumeratio (listing), and the elegy form. Elegy: usually in couplets, first line longer; can be a longing, loss, mourning, and/or a celebration of life.

Behind the Myth

lillian17 Comments

The myth behind the woman loved by many,
richly layered flavors, cultivated to impress.

Miss Popularity, Miss Luther League
years later, a doctor’s wife
mother and choir member too.

Chameleon of many faces.
24 hours. 10 stories.
A runaway drama, no one really knew.

Instability lurked behind her masks
until the show of the week
forever changed her life.

Ripple effect
wider than a tidal pool.

Knife in hand, surge of passion
husband prostrate at her feet.
Murdereress.  A new role.

Impromptu, adlib,
shocked by the script.

Masks-01                            found

Prompts from WP Writing 201:  faces, found poetry, chiasmus. Found Poetry: scissors and newspaper in hand, cut out words and phrases and arrange them in a poem. Words from THE WEEK, September 18, 2015 edition.  Chiasmus: a reversal, an inversion (title to first line).

Life Regifted

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Angels here among us
dearest, stay with me.
Over and back you hover
return to earth my plea.
Extinguish not, like inifinity
deny death’s call and stay with me.

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This poem, dedicated to the love of my life. Life regifted for two years and many more: you came back to me. Thankful for every day. This poem is an acrostic:  the first letter of each line spells out a message (Adored). Photo from on board ship on a Panama Canal cruise.

Morning Aperture

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Boundaries between this world and the next
blur as I stand in mist
feet upon the earth, arms raised
billowness seeping from the sky.

I tip my face into the hovering cloud
spirit worlds surround me
and you are here,
my cheeks moist from your caress.

Slowly, sadness comes with warmth
as sun clears the air, blues the sky
eyes tear to realize
I am grounded, and you
are truly gone.

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In response to Daily Post Challenge: Boundaries. Photos from dome car ride near Anchorage, Alaska.

Helen Cecile

lillian5 Comments

My mother lived with Amy Lowell.
Wrong preposition.
In, she lived in
a Boston housing complex
with a plaque.
Did you know her?
Amy, not Helen.
Tomboy turned poet-ess.
Way before Maya.
Not Emily.
Less famous.
Except there’s a plaque
where Helen Cecile lived.

AMy House Amy plaque Amy mom

Photos:  Amy Lowell Apartment Complex in Boston,  the plaque and Amy Lowell (1874 – 1925). Born in Brookline, MA won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry posthumously in 1926. First published poem appeared in the Atlantic Monthly in 1910. First published collection of her poetry, A Dome of ManyColured Glass appeared in 1912.  Maya refers to poet Maya Angelou; Emily to Emily Dickinson.  Last photo is Helen Cecile, my mother, in her last year of life. She was born in Waukegan, Illinois and moved with us to Boston in 1997 – lived in the Amy Lowell Apartments and died in 1999.

Memories in Black and White

lillian8 Comments

Phyllis Groat, Billy Behr and Timmy Drew
Francis somebody with Jimmy Fisher
and Mary Buckley too.

Black robed nuns that seemed to glide
feet and hair a mystery
rulers that reached a mile.

Lunch time stools swung in and out
from tables that disappeared
into Mary blue block walls.

Holy card for first place prize.
Priests mumbled Latin mass
and girls watched holy backs.

Third grade fell out of mother’s drawer,
a stained photo stuck between dried up pens
and a Tupperware orange peeler.

Three days after we buried her
in a Catholics only plot,
she made me remember
what I deliberately forgot.

uniform      communion

Photos:  3rd grade class photo mentioned was tossed….but these were also in the drawer.  Me in my 3d grade Immaculate Conception School navy blue uniform  and my first communion picture. I actually won a third grade competition to see who could learn the altar boy responses in Latin first (our third grade boys were lagging in this important task — it was thought this would spur them on). Silly me – I thought if I won I could be an altar boy. See that word?  “Boy.”  Nope.  I did win a gold embossed holy card of St. Francis of Assisi and the boys all went on to assist with Mass.  Memories…..