You never truly know someone
until he's dead.
Rooting around amongst
his used things.
A pair of slippers
with a hole worn clean through.
A crisp blue necktie.
Still in it's box.
A relic from Christmas 1968.
And in the garage.
Along the back wall.
Mason jars
filled with nuts and bolts,
nails,
screws.
Gleaming and galvanized.
Free from dust
and as bright as they were
before being entombed
in their current home.
These are the things that mattered.
They tell me all that I need to know.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
So this is about my Grandpa. For those of you that don't know I bought my Grandparents house from my Grandma after he died. It always astounded me how orderly his little work area was. It was an alter. And these mason jars are still there. Little canopic relics of his life of working hard (this just gave me an idea for another poem and since I am giving a final with nothing to do I may write it now)
This poem really stays with me. I like the content very much and the small details that you offer up. The images give a sense of nostalgia and remind me of what we take for granted when we are around the living. I think you captured your grandpa well. I'm starting to see a connection in your work, very nice
This poem really stays with me. I like the content very much and the small details that you offer up. The images give a sense of nostalgia and remind me of what we take for granted when we are around the living. I think you captured your grandpa well. I'm starting to see a connection in your work, very nice
Like Brandi, I get a somber sense of nostalgia from this poem. You capture the spirit of your grandfather, particularly his sense of love for "work" in the creation of this altar. In this poetic tribute, the speakers love also resonates.
I love how your mind thinks in poems. The coffee on the window sill is immediately a poem. Your grandfather's mason jars are too, as is working the garden. I scavenge my mind for poetry, and need to find it staring at me in front of my face more often like you.
Post a Comment