THREE POEMS BY GLENDA BARRETT

THE GIST OF THE MATTER

Apple peelings

red and moistened

slide from the knife

onto my calico apron

in a large, curly heap.

I listen to the chatter of

my family around the table.

Over and over, 

I slice pieces from my apple,

and eat them from the knife

like my father before me,

until nothing is left but the core.

That's where I like to begin 

my story.

Previously published in Hard Row to How.

Included in When the Sap Rises.

ONION BED

I remember the day

you began falling

and didn't want help

getting back up.

A few months later,

you bought a bright red

scooter so you could

ride all over the farm

and check on your cattle.

You were proud of it

and showed it to all of us.

I have memories of you

riding through the pastures

with my son on your lap

and smiles on your faces.

One day you asked Jody

to help you work on the fence.

He was only four years old.

When the work was done,

you asked what he charged.

He replied, Five dollars, Papaw.

You paid gladly and laughed later.

Always an ambitious man,

you were determined to work.

One day while visiting,

I couldn't find you in the house

so I walked out on the porch

and looked up toward the garden.

There you lay on the ground,

plucking weeds around the onions.

That year you finished your jobs,

sold your cattle, made your will,

but didn't live to harvest your crop.

Previously published in Nostalgia.

Included in When the Sap Rises.

KINDRED SPIRIT

At feeding times

the female cardinal

is the first to the feeder

and the last one to leave.

Unlike the other birds,

she doesn't scare easily

or shy away as larger birds

light on the feeder beside her.

Instead with courage,

she remains calm and focused

and works hard at crushing

sunflower seeds, one at a time.

Sensing a difference in her,

I inch closer to the window

and notice there is a problem.

She is blind in one eye.

Somewhere deep inside me,

emotions hard to define

start to surface.  I feel

a deep connection,

a bond of some kind,

not only with the bird,

but to something deeper

and on a larger scale.

A feeling of knowing,

no matter what happens, 

there will always be hope

and endless possibilities.

The moisture from my breath

leaves a circle on the windowpane,

and I watch from my scooter,

until the cardinal flies out of sight.

Previously published in Mindprints Literary Journal.

Included in When the Sap Rises.

Thanks to Glenda Barrett for sharing these three poems.