Our Guest Poet
Judi Favinger
Her face looked,
The single room,
Except for the rags
It stands no more
That house on the corner
Gone are the sights
The sounds
And the order
Tracts laid out
In the memory of me
Of buildings and
Front Porch
Gardens and trees
The Barn in the back
Famous Log Cabin
Green House
Mrs. Apples Shack
Gardens paved over
Structures torn down
Making way for a
Gas Station
On my old playground
Everywhere you look
Those awful things abound
Do they actually
Need them
All over town
Judith Favinger 1999
MRS. APPLE
As her name implied
Like a withered apple.
Deeply engraved lines,antiqued with grime,
Covered every visible expanse of flesh.
Out behind the cider mill,
Down a tiny path, she lived.
It was hard to tell if the outside of her shack
Had ever seen the bristle end
Of a paint brush.
In which she dwelled,
Held a pot bellied stove.
That sole source of heat
Also warmed her meager meals
Crowded edge to edge with today
And many yesterdays,
The kitchen table had no clear space
On which to set a dinner plate
Or even a pair of elbows.
Adorning her body,
The bed in one corner was piled high
With the coverings she owned,
Mingled with dirty blankets.
Decades of a sparse life
Littered every corner of the bare existance
sustained within those walls.
Did her presence matter
To someone, sometime?
Judith Favinger 1999
THE CHERRY TREE
Ruts in the grass
Where you parked the car
At the top of the steps
She stood
Backdoor ajar
Pick these cherries
Come quick was the call
Now's the time before
The birds
Get them all
Everything had been tried
To stave off the assault
Green garden hose
Tin cans
All for naught
Out came the ladder
To the top of the tree
Gods' bounty harvest
Placed there
Just for me
Ruby red fruit
From a long supple spine
Enticingly dangled
Your limbs
Off to mine
Back to our house
On the poch swing to sit
Hair pin in hand
To extract
Every last pit
Into the kitchen
Where miracles do occur
Measuring and stirring
Worrying
Perfection for her
Memories of Moms' pie
With its' golden brown crust
Sugar and Almond
My lips
Do they lust
Judith Favinger 1999
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