The Web Poetry Corner

Karen Merrrill

of

West Gardiner, ME, US

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The Recital

by

Karen Merrrill

Violins squeaking
and sometimes shrieking
as timid hands
wreck the bows across their strings.
Pianos played
one note at a time
by fingers barely
large enough
to reach the keys
across the vast distance
spanning piano to bench
tremulous voices
singing out in French
strongest and purest
at the end.

sunday morning jazz

by

Karen Merrrill

Smooth light jazz playing softly in
the Sunday morning background. Sun glinting
off the snow so blindingly bright all the
house lights are turned off, yet one still
feels the need for sunglasses if sitting too
near a window. The horses are romping in
the big pasture, finished for now with the
fresh mounds of hay newly deposited at the
beginning of each day. Menfolk in the barn,
finishing up the chores. Little girl practicing
her sewing in front of the television at the far
end of the old farmhouse. The mother adds carrots
to the pot roast in the slow cooker, savoring the smell;
running over the preparations for the rest of the meal
and the rest of the day. Wishing once again for a little
time to herself, a few hours a week in which no
demands are made on her time, her heart, her soul.

Alone time is a mesmerizing concept, but only for her.
The remaining family members abhor alone time, saying
they have far too much of it and can do without,
thank you kindly. The mother agonizes over their shared
lack of understanding, praying for the day to come when
she can share their understanding.

But the potatoes need peeling. The ironing must be
completed, it won’t do to have it sit for another week.
Biscuits for later and a quick wash of the kitchen floor.
The two dogs wander in, leaving yet another set of snowy,
salty paw prints across the hardwood floors. Oh, to live in one
of those modern houses with carpeting everywhere
that never showed salty paw or foot prints! The cat sits smugly
in the sunshine, perfectly aware that she could never, would
never, make such a mess. Perfection in a living being can only
be a cat.

Plinking rain

by

Karen Merrrill

Rain plinking down
dappling the parched ground
creating tiny islands of moisture
Streaking the dust from the cars
the houses, the horses, the stones
Sprinkling the laundry
hanging limply from the clothesline
trees, grass, flowers and vegetables
lift their faces greedily toward the sky
welcoming whatever wetness may come their way