July 21, 1939 - August 8, 2003
Anne was a public school educator for 25 years in the cities of Huntsville, Alabama and Long Beach, California, and she wrote poems and prose over a six-year period after retiring in 1996. Her writings reflect her faith, humor, and her family relation to the late American poet, Emily Dickinson. She was married to Wendell Kestle, who organized and published a beautiful collection of Anne’s poems in a book entitled, Snippets from an Angel’s- Life - Poems of a Retired Math Teacher (Ashley and Taylor Publishing, P.O. Box 2793, Huntsville, AL 35804, telephone number 1-877-536-9989, www.AshleyTaylor.com. Copyright 2004 by Wendell Kestle). We are grateful to Mr. Kestle for allowing us to print a few of Anne’s poems on our website.
Although Anne was a polio survivor, only one of her poems mentioned the muscle weakness that she experienced. This poem, entitled, Limping Leprechaun and The Tar Baby, vividly displays Anne’s sense of humor.
AND
THE TAR BABY
The limping leprechaun is hoarding her pot
of gold –
Energy, her last nerve.
Her nerve of boldly seeking adventure
Of the do-able kind.
Her nerve to walk past
Tempting tar-babies sitting there,
Mocking her to touch them,
Knowing that with one touch,
She will stick surely as Br’er Rabbit.
Just because my leprechaun limp looks like
a jig,
I don’t and won’t dance to every tune.
I want to soak in the music while
burnishing my gold.
I’ll sit this dance out sitting in my own briar
patch, thank you.
Anne Kestle, who is definitely mixing stories
and metaphors.
August 15, 2000
HOPE
To have hope means…
Saving one sock or one earring
Keeping addresses of old friends
Who have moved or died, God only knows
Cutting out exotic travel itineraries
Figuring out the meaning of strange dreams
Starting on Weight Watchers for the 4th (or
5th) time
In two years
Saving clothes that are 4 sizes too small
Continuing to pray the same prayers
That Jesus taught us
Saying YES to the cold morning light.
December 1999.
LOST AND FOUR-SOCKEN
Four unmatched socks linger
Waiting for their lost mates.
Has static sucked them inside
Dark sleeves, pant legs or pillowcases?
Are they hanging out in a dark closet,
Dancing and cozying up with loose shoes?
Single socks, switching partners
Fecklessly, not even considering the fate
Of their waiting mates –
Trashed or used to polish furniture
Thanks to a hint from Heloise.
February 1, 2000
A single platter remains
From my first tea set.
Somehow serving imaginary tea
To my dolls never appealed to me.
Mother was much too busy with
My new baby brother, Eddie, to allow
Me, at three, to serve real food and drink
To Raggedy Ann and Andy.
So what was I to do?
Next I was leaning out
My second story bedroom window,
Dropping each dainty piece
To its glorious destruction
On the brick steps below.
I loved the crash of impact and
Pieces flying everywhere.
This one platter remains
From my violent childhood
Bombing Raid.
September 05, 2000
