Peaches in July

[susanstinson]

Praise for the fat old ladies.
Praise our bristles.
Praise our groaning in the morning
as we negotiate our nightgowns,
appliances and pills.

Praise the unquenchable carnality
of our coughs, full of moist depths,
and the way our mouths hang open
and our faces converge in gatherings
of ineffectual concentration
as we give another round of dominoes
our (impure? because, after all,
competititive and human) best thoughts.

We lose, of course, but play again.
The nightgown tears on the seam above the breast,
but we wear it, still, unmended,
while young women make big curls
in their hair with juice cans,
the results glossy and time-consuming,
as if the war were never over and
victory gardens were all lucky girls might sow.



Lake Buchanan, TX 2006

Comments

[jasonelvis.livejournal.com]

I'm completely distracted from work by this poem Susan. I keep reading it over and over. I love the way you've painted a picture. Each time I read it I see something else while at the same time notice all the things that aren't there. Who are the girls? Who's the domino opponent? And the last line sort of haunts me "and
victory gardens were all lucky girls might sow." because it reminds me of catching something your Mum says in hushed tones to one of her friends when you're a kid that you nearly understand.

[susanstinson.livejournal.com]

That's pretty perfect, since I've been silently clicking back and forth to your overheard swimming pool changing room conversation.