POETRY IS LIFE -

Thank you for taking time to read the material posted here. I would be pleased if you could comment, and I promise to comment back. Sincerely, Nancy

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Monday, November 29, 2010

A STORM BREWING

A STORM BREWING

I don't what them to see me,
here beneath the side porch
where I hide when they skip rope -
play beneath a maple tree.
I know the big one, she stares
talks, soon she will point at me –
I’ll start to cry.
I never hurt her or pointed –
never asked her to play, she
would say no.

So what if she's bigger - she lives
right across the street; still stares
at me beneath her maple tree –
at me, under my steps.

It was normal, I kind of got use
to her until the day clouds
gathered above that tree, and
all the children skipping rope
stopped skipping. All the people
on sidewalks near my steps –
walked faster. . .

Why I wondered – staring up over
the tree. Then – the big girl yelled
over, “A tornado soon – you better
hide.” I thought she was teasing
me, but I did hide in storms. I was
petrified in storms. And last week
a storm tore roofs off houses, Daddy
he hid beneath a tree on the golf
course and Mommy yelled. I guess
no one should be near a tree.

The kids, they were standing beneath
the maple tree, and had to be telling
fibs. As the cloud grew darker, I
began to believe her – all the children
scattered, so I ran up the steps, opened
the screen door, and sank to the floor.

What to do? Mommy and Daddy
were shopping – what if the tornado
hit the store? I called information –
asked for the phone number,
dialed it, and asked to talk to my
parents.

I guess they called their name over
some load speaker. The woman told
me they paged them.
What was paged?
I only wanted to talk to them –
tell them about the storm.

Finally I heard them talk, as
they said, “Don’t worry.” Telling
me no storm was coming – I had
nothing to hide from.

Well – I never did tell them
about the big girl, who skipped
rope under the maple tree –
or me, crouched beneath our
yellow steps.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

Thursday, November 18, 2010

A STORAGE GARAGE

A Storage Garage

Our yellow garage
a padlock – foggy windows
near yellow tulips growing
in our garden –

Told to stay away from
those foggy windows
I tried to sneak through
the flowers – tip toeing

Where was Grandma?
She wasn’t in the window
watching me play…
she would be yelling now

My shoes covered in mud
Grandmother watered every
morning.

What – exactly was kept
inside our garage?
What – exactly was kept
such a secret for a lifetime?

Asked Daddy why did you
own a garage - no one owned
a car – back then…

Heard grandfather once
kept bananas safe for the
fruitman, away from the
summers sun…

You told me –
and I remember.

You told me your father -
grandfather - had a job
working for a fruit company –
for the fruit men.

You told me –
and I remember.

But – you told me your
father – grandfather –
he was killed working –
for those fruit men…

You told me –
and I remember

The fruit men killed him -
Did your father –
grandfather –
destroy – all of his bananas?

Nancy Duci Denofio
All Rights Reserved

Friday, November 12, 2010

I Still See Grandmother Wave

I STILL SEE GRANDMOTHER WAVE

Her curtains always yellow
even in winter – she had to
see through them, through
glass – she had to know
everything going on below,
on Seneca Street – when
the street lamps turned on
and Father wasn’t inside –
that’s when buckets of
water were tossed from her
window with yellow curtains
over his head.

Her radiator hissed – and
her thumb curled – way back
and she would lick it as she
turned each page of her bible.
But, it was me – me sitting in
front of that radiator begging
for cookies from her cookie
jar – she continued to pray
aloud and still licked her thumb.

Today, I wish you were still
sitting, facing that window, still
breathing – still telling me to
read “John” from the “New
Testament.”

Instead, everything changed.
I seldom walk up the stairway –
I seldom gaze up to the window –
but every now and then –
I still see Grandmother wave.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

Thursday, November 11, 2010

WHERE ANGELS FLEW BETWEEN THE TREES

“Where Angels Flew Between the Trees”

Angels gather there, above trees
behind my home – they told me so –
do you believe me?
do you see angels in my tree?

In the morning I stood barefoot
grass sneaking between toes
morning dew coats our home
our cellar door –

My feet wet – damp
I wiggle my toes – wait
wait for my turn to visit with angels
wondering if I too could fly?

Patience, as I brush back my hair
moistened by the morning dew
as the sun pops out between
a mountain in the distance
now closer to my time…

My eyes stare forward at the tree -
sparkles of light now flicker as
diamonds – yet - it could not compare
to what has entered my being –

A peace, a calm, a life beyond what
I left inside, now inside my heart –
my soul – and I wiggle my toes.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved