by Linda Albert (Sarasota, FL)
I’ve turned my back on some of your skills
before I really learned them – bridge parties,
Lemon tart with whipped cream on the edges,
three-layer tea sandwiches without crusts –
because of all the hours I judged that you lost there
the chaotic kitchen, the cleanup that I’ve always noticed.
I got rid of your impatience
from the beginning-
the timekeeper bully
who kept you going until
It seemed to me that you missed your life.
I might have gone too far
and now I want something back.
Your maxims, I sorted out on the way –
although I confess that this job took years.
If it is true that God will only help them
Who helps himself, then who needs God?
Airing dirty laundry in public is sometimes therapeutic.
The bed I make is not the one I always have to lie in;
There is no actual law.
But I appreciate your English bone china
the set of thirty two with the gold border and the green border
You bought in Uncle Jack’s jewelry store in Ottawa
and confirmed in the Sweet Sixteen
Lunch you made for me
In fact, I think you would like to know
I use this porcelain every day.
Whenever I take a plate out of the closet
I share the food with you. It’s easier now
since you became my guest
Linda Albert is an internationally published poet, essayist and former theater director. She is also a certified Jungian Archetypal Pattern Analyst and communications trainer with a master’s degree in neurolinguistics. In recent years, her work has focused on conscious and creative aging. Linda’s poems are influenced by her interest and academic education in these areas, her Jewish heritage, the changing roles of contemporary women, and her personal joys, struggles, and insights.
Author of Mapping the Lost Continent: Poetry and Other Discoveries (https://bit.ly/ChartingtheLostContinent), Her awards include the Poetry Awards of the Olivet and Dyer-Ives Foundation and the International Merit Award of the Atlanta Review for Poetry. More information about her and her work can be found at: www.lindaalbert.net.
“Bone on Bone” first appeared in Israel 2015 anthology and is reproduced here with the permission of the author.
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