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THE EFFORT by Carrie Jones My grandmothers—all dead— Wander through my head in couplets Though I need to make a pie today, For dinner, and it just feels like so much effort, So much effort just to get me To this day, to this pie making. My nana was strong: gardener, hospital volunteer, Bridge player, terrible cook. You’d cut in her chicken pies And water would leak out. My avó never Had enough to make a pie. She was all about soup. Another, only believed in boiling and broiling. Only my nana worked, every day, all day. Poets write about their strong grandmothers, But me? Only one was like that, divorced With three kids. Her son changed the world. Another son just did coke. Another grandmother Suffered from melancholy and wrote poems About geese flying into Canada skies, painted But refused to let anyone see her still life In her still lifes. She’d say sometimes, “If there was a god, He’d just let me die. But your skin. You have such beautiful skin. It is nothing like mine.” Another abandoned her nine children to live In a New Hampshire motel in the mountains. She came back. They forgave. And another, I’ve only learned about, Journeyed to America on steamer ships and dreams. On strangers’ blogs, historians make fun of her long name. Who are these women? Who am I? I am someone who needs to make a pie today For dinner, but it feels like just so much. Effort.
Our random thoughts this week came from here.
SHOUT OUT!
The music we’ve clipped and shortened in this podcast is awesome and is made available through the Creative Commons License.
Here’s a link to that and the artist’s website. Who is this artist and what is this song? It’s “Summer Spliff” by Broke For Free.
WE HAVE EXTRA CONTENT ALL ABOUT LIVING HAPPY OVER HERE! It’s pretty awesome.
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