Well, Poem #2 has arrived. I’m happy and am celebrating it’s birth.

What Is That Above The Sink There?

I hear her screams.
Our kitchen quiet now, still early.
See there an old black and white
Photo of Rebecca’s mother
Mary and Martha her twin.

Some of the construction dates back
To the thirties
When maybe a guy named Wilson
Tried to grow currants here.

There those three skulls:
Coyote, beaver and raccoon,
Evidence of lives lived
Out in the elements.
Our kitchen, a place to get in
Out of the rain.

The fire in the wood stove quietly
Goes about it’s business,
Warmth it’s only thought.
It dries my hat and jacket
And the corn from the harvest
In September.

The table made from sturdy oak
Stained with the history
Of our forty years together.
I hear screams again, so close.

Ah, she finally gives birth
Here long ago in this very room,
Her first born. I see him
Occasionally out and around town.
His birthplace just about
Where this table is here.

What is that above the sink there?
An ancient stone spear point?
One of our fine ancestors used that
To get his people dinner. The blood
Red long washed away now.

Invite him in, that hairy man.
Let him dry off by the fire.
He will love all that corn in the rack.
And he will recognize her screams.

What is that a sign of
When time runs together so?
No before, now and later
But all present together.

Phil Volker 1/10/19