My mom loved it
When I’d make a plate Of those simple Norwegian Nachos A paper plate With nacho chips Sliced green olives And sprinkled with shredded cheese Then throw it in The microwave And zap it For thirty seconds It was super easy I loved that I could Make them myself And also that she loved them I know that I could Still make them now But I wish I could Still make them for her.
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My mother’s mom was “Grandma O”
Her knotted hands pained her From working the dough But it was something she loved And the skin on her hands Were soft from the butter She always had lefse, Flatbread, cookies or pies And usually she had them all For the lefse: butter and sugar For the flatbread: butter and jam For cookies and pie: ice cream The flatbread was always stored In the empty ice cream bucket Thanks to the a la mode She was quick with a grill cheese And soup for lunch for me That I’d eat while watching Sesame Street I believe in dreams they visit
Gone from touch But in our hearts And in our thoughts Our worlds cross paths in sleep Though only for a restful moment I won’t complain at all Their value is worth more than gold For it revitalizes memories Of being with them once more. What did Susan do
To be put in a corner And do more work Than any other cupboard And still be called “lazy”? Is the name ironic Or did she not contribute To the efficient design Of the spinning shelf So they named it after her? “We’re done with the project... No don’t get up, It’s already done Thanks for your help... Susan!” When I first started driving
Gas was not cheap In fact, it cost 75 cents a gallon I know many people say That this is nothing Compared to when They were young But I think it’s all relative To the wages we earned Besides, back then We could “charge it”. When our cross country practice
Had come to an end And our six mile run Was behind us. We’d walk it in for the final Block or so to cool down Along the way there stood A huge apple tree that sagged From the weight of the plum and ripe fruit We’d all grab an apple Or three, four or five And quench our hunger and thirst We’d even bring back some For the girls finishing up Practice on the basketball court We’d bribe them into Liking us by impressing Them as gatherers On special occasions
Mom used the little crystal dish It came out at Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas and birthdays It was our hungry little fingers’ Hors d’oeuvres for our Hungry little tummies Before the main attraction Relish tray filled That would soon be emptied And then refilled Before the main meal began Pickles and olives Both black and green Pickled watermelon rind And beets that we called purple pickles We’d pick at the pickles As we went by the table That was set for us all to sit down And alternate green and black olives We’d be scolded to Not spoil our dinner so Maybe just one more from The little crystal dish. In a small town
There are usually Two places to cut your hair Two insurance carriers Two gas stations And at least two bars If the time ever came To make a switch There could be a certain Amount of guilt That went along With that decision These people were your friends Sometimes the parents Of your students You worshipped together Served on boards together But sometimes you do what you have to do. I tried to dig into
A memory of home But sometimes I’d get home From school and just rest I’d sit on the couch In our silent big house And listen to the sun Pressing closer to dark I’d hear the birds chirping Outside and a car would go by Music falling flatter as it drove Away from me faster I’d close my eyes Take a nap Get ready for evening And dream about morning But wake to the smell Of tuna casserole baking And the theme to NOVA On PBS playing. Riding or pushing
Back and forth... Angled or straight Round and round... Spiral in or spiral out Mulch or throw Bag or rake I tried them all Both slowly and hurried In the sun and in rain In morning orange light When neighbors were still waking And in evening dusk creeping as Neighbors start sleeping The green grass of early Gives way to the late Brown dusty patches When all I knocked down Was scraggly sharp weeds |