Rereading Poem by Robert Ronnow

Rereading



Rereading the poems of others
and my own. Community across
time and graves. What's left
exceeds in significance
one's last moment. Yet
his last moment must have been
exceedingly important
for the poet.

Nothing he did that day will seem meaningful.
While we prosecute the war
a pileated woodpecker and red squirrel
compete for sunflower seeds.
A winter slow
to assert itself.
I can still see my mother's father and his bowl
of filberts, almonds, walnuts
quiet weekday mornings.

Both grandfathers read sports
pages religiously. I don't know
if my grandmother who gave me the
anthology of, to date, dated
unreadable poems read poetry.
I remember my mother's mother spoke
rarely as an animal.

Writing but not knowing where I'm going
unlike Joan Didion justly
cannibalizing candidates
who didn't read the Constitution, Bill of Rights or
Federalist Papers. It's late,
I have not vacuumed or shopped for food.
Instead I reread
Phil Levine's Salami.

Sunday, March 29, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: day,father,grandfather,grandmother,grave,mother,poems,reading,time,winter
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Pamela Sinicrope 13 June 2017

LOL! Love this. A meandering write full of meaning. Not another poem about grandparents....not schmaltzy at all. It's those mundane little details that make us human and special. The filberts and the salami. I'll take them both.

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Bhargabi Dei Mahakul 29 March 2015

Reading and writing is definitely good. Really very wonderfully drafted poem shared here. Nice job.

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Kelly Kurt 29 March 2015

I enjoyed your poem. Thank you for sharing.

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