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
