by olga kronmeyer
They moved in to a small drab house.
Her ponytail hung loose.
He limped around a shaky ladder
And they brought her old mother.
They trod into a steepled house.
Its stained rays pressed their clothes.
Their songs battered the angels
And once they brought her mother.
They hoped as storms tore up their house.
He limped up his strong ladder.
She held boards against the roof.
And her old mother whistled.
The shabby house spread out three rooms.
He patched and patched the roof.
She washed two new picture windows
And a dog watched the old mother.
They moved in and out the great church.
She cooked the Christmas stuffing.
His knife carved his pocket. They left
For good with the whistling mother.

0 thoughts on “shadows

  1. Though I have no clue the meaning, nor association with the context, nor understanding of the why of this…I LOVE it. Indeed I do.
    I love it because each sentence is strong and quiet. Nothing manipulates me. The poem just IS and forces nothing on me; no emotion, nor opinion, nor question. Each word seems carefully chosen, yet naturally there. And it speaks of human. Life. Unthunk. Unexamined. Unjudged. Yet all known. Present. Accounted for (without counting).
    So there.

  2. I was digging this all the way to the end. Then my mind launched into the opening lyrics from Whitesnake/Scorpion “Rock You Like a Hurricane”.
    It’s early morning, the sun comes out

    Last night was shaking, pretty loud
My cat is purring and scratches my skin
So what is wrong with another sin?
    Not the poets fault. I like the poem and the connection it made in my mind. We all know what chores outside and on the roof mean. An old couple unable to have crazy animal sex until after the decrypted mother-in-law kicks off. Squatting the dog on her grave just to be sure she stays dead seems a bit paranoid to me but then I never met the bitch.
    Good stuffing!

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