Collective power
Hearty Vegetarian Split Pea Soup and Brown Bread

Somewhere still

Generations sm
Science says time is not
the line we humans sense
but it bends and folds and perhaps
happens all at once or again
someplace.

Which explains my grandparents
still in their kitchen
on an autumn morn arguing
about oatmeal as a fire
sizzles still in that woodstove 
somewhere.

And my folks waiting for my
return to Colorado
in the big house they bought
for this while they
bump down a dirt road in a sweet jeep
somehow.

And my eldest daughter stirring
in soft fleece, a warm lump
in a crib with yellow sheets,
waking with the sun,
while my first love walks
toward me in a glow of streetlamps,
still.

{photo: great-grandparents, grandmother, and granddaughters on a warm fall day once}

Comments

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Sheila B.

Kelli,
Did you write this lovely poem? Some how I think you did....

I greatly enjoy all of the poetry you post on your blog...and I pass it on to others...who pass it on to others...and on your efforts go...much appreciated by many!

Thank you so very much!

Sheila B.

Kelli

Sheila, that is so sweet of you. Yes, I did write it. Thank you. Now, come and see us! We miss you. - Kelli

Patricia

This is an absolutely haunting poem.
Everytime I read it I am moved beyond words, through time.
The photograph is perfect with it.

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