Thank You, Aunt

Aunt Emily stood a pillar on her front porch

two steps up, laced-up cracked leather shoes

or soft house slippers, behind her an open door

I can’t remember her face between cement-gray

hair & the washed-out dress down to her ankles

white apron — someone brought me there

child trailing a mother or aunt, I could be trusted

to sit reasonably still, say, Thank you, Aunt

for homemade cookies, shining hard candies

in shallow clear glass bowls, May I have one?

yellow, my favorite, next came lime green

the cloth-covered chairs, knobbed arms

white lamp shades trimmed in cord, might have

been braided — my braids never held, red curls

escaping — ivory-painted wood floors, rag rugs

she’d sewn & showed me, history tightly bound

linoleum peeling on the kitchen floor — I came

again, alone, we sat catty corner, between us

the low table, the tipsy lamp, I ate her sweets

told her things, surely not my secrets, what

she told me I listened to, every word she spoke

for me, now she’s dead & I can’t remember

[untitled]

by Lorine Niedecker

Along the river

         wild sunflowers

over my head

         the dead

who gave me life

         give me this

our relative the air

         floods

our rich friend

         silt