Your kitchen smells of
wisp and flame
fanning a lie
of borders to
divide
It is not the hearth
at my grandmother’s
farm
with scent of molasses
lack of running water
and spark
she never missed a beat
this woman who could
not swim
rowed a boat to a
one-room schoolhouse
to teach
What magic can
you weave other
than sorrow for
what we lose
in our addiction to
prevarication?
Oh, so now you
step down – you
who could have
stopped it
before death threats
ruled the world
of all of us
who are ordinary
How do you keep
garlic mustard from
capturing the wild?
Pull it up from the root
lest it spread and spread
gardening is hard work
obviously- since you
couldn’t even be bothered
to try
Not every man is
spineless – kissing
fanny instead of
his wife
My mother was
the treasure
the diamond of
my father’s life
He knew her worth
he did but
You? Where does
vow and oath
disappear to
when courage slips
through a drain
like an alligator
into a pond?
I am my mother’s
daughter who belonged
to Finky* who
confronted snakes and
rats and bees
canned and sewed
and saved children
from angry cows
This is my legacy
Watch out!
Here I come!
3/2024
*My grandmother’s nickname
Anne's mediocre poetry 