Three generations,
seventeen individuals if
we include the two lost in childbirth.
Perhaps not here since
those never knew the warmth
of the potbelly stove fully stoked
when outside temps fell
below zero degrees Fahrenheit.
They share a marker
in the corner of the family plot,
down the path,
beneath a small grove of pines
just beyond the barn:
Clara – Evan
I suppose it is good
they have each other
carved with that distinct dash
demarcating their respective
sides of the badly worn stone.
It would have been
nice to know the year.
1871? 1917?
I guess it does not change
the tenor of this story much.
They never shared a day
playing in the yard.
They never shared the warmth
of the potbelly stove.
Written in response to The Amplification Effect #4, an abandoned house.
This made me feel sad. Poor babies. 😭
Poems will do that if you are not more careful!
I will be more careful. 😂
A sad but very beautiful poem.
Sad can be beautiful.
Agree!!!! It was great to have the audio accompanying the image and words.
A new wrinkle…
I really enjoy personal histories in poetry.
Vivid and poignant.
Great stuff.
P.S. Wonderful to hear someone reading their poetry.