Lemon Brine
It’s been 12 years since my father left his earthly home. He passed on the summer solstice. Today we celebrate Father’s Day … on the summer solstice. I can’t think of a better day (or poem) to celebrate his life.
Another poem from my chapbook, Pencil Man. This book is both a tribute to the almost mythical figure my memory conjures whenever I think of my dad and also the enormous complexity in elder care and the challenges we face as we witness the decline of our loved ones.
Lemon Brine
A late-night rendezvous, father & daughter
at the kitchen table, an avalanche of art supplies
between us: India ink, the mysterious gum eraser,
pens and pencils, watercolor paint. Mesmerized
by the precision of his lettering, until one day
I discover I’ve adopted the very same script.
Weekly trips to the Columbia Market. Olives
soaked in lemon brine; cold cuts sliced to order;
snails climbing the edge of a whisky barrel.
From butcher to bakery to the produce aisle
I play the same chord, making art on a plate
or with words, or in the way strands of colorful yarn
become a story of remembrance. How he woke me
each morning ten full minutes before the alarm
to be sure I’d hear it. The groan. The grin.
Bagels he brought all the way from Buffalo,
laughing as he unpacked a trunk filled
with pepperoni and Provolone cheese.
Memory is the rain that soothes scorched earth.
https://wellnourishedwoman.com/
Wonderful alliteration throughout. That last line ~
Memory is the rain that soothes scorched earth
~ killer!!
Sue Ann, it is such a gift to have you give voice to these poems. Thank you. There are so many lines to highlight here, but one in particular is so precise, so unique, so vivid I keep coming back to it: snails climbing the edge of a whisky barrel. My word. Also, given what we are learning about each other, you will not be surprised to hear that my dad woke me before my alarm, too. And, oh, it would make me so angry then. But I get it now. And now that he's 2000 miles away and battling Parkinson's, I only wish I'd knew enough then to cherish those extra minutes in the morning with him. Thank you for this tribute, this memory, your voice!