Aunt Bertha’s thick ankles tucked in orthopedic shoes.
She stirs water into flour for chicken gravy paste.
The soon-to-be-closed eyes of my father
stare at the dog planter on the window ledge.
Mother’s hands run fabric under the jumpy needle,
the machine’s drone luring me to love.
The voice of great-uncle John’s deep bass
volleys with Esther’s small, squeaky refrains.
Nicks on Sergio’s perfect face
held like a calla between my flowering palms.
The smell of Sunday’s roast with onions
potatoes and carrots waft through register vents.
Grandfather’s sad, wrinkled red face
dozes alone in the paneled TV room.
David of the Espanola Valley places his hand over mine
as I look above the table at New Mexican stars.
I cannot recall her last smile here beside the unplugged
body as the doctor says, “She’s passed.”
About the Author: Marc Frazier has widely published poetry in journals including The Spoon River Poetry Review, ACM, Good Men Project, f(r)iction, The Gay and Lesbian Review, Slant, Permafrost, Plainsongs, and Poet Lore. Marc is the recipient of an Illinois Arts Council Award for poetry and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and a “best of the net.” His book The Way Here and his two chapbooks are available on Amazon as well as his second full-length collection Each Thing Touches. Willingly, his third poetry book, will be published by Adelaide Books New York in 2019. His website is http://www.marcfrazier.org.
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Image Credit: Russell Lee “Removing jars of canned fruit from pressure cooker. Chamisal, New Mexico” (1940) Library of Congress