Saturday, December 28, 2013


I have been silent for a month because it has been a busier month than I could have imagined. But, as I was cleaning up after a dinner I had prepared, I stopped and paused. And it felt like poetry was bursting out of me that needed to be shared...
Salt whooshses along the grill lines
Creating a rhythm which lulls me
My hand braces the iron handle pound for pound
Scrub and scrub
Until white becomes brown becomes white
Scoured clean
My hands feel like my ancestors' do
This thing we do, a simple moment to connect with the past
One hundred years ago, on prairies, on barren fields of potatoes
On high moors and lush valleys
And I am with them, each
Cast with their strength
These women, these adventurers

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