Poets Salon: Family Mysteries

POETS SALON

– 3/06/19

Hosted by Kathabela Wilson

Independence Day. I was 17. His day off. He could not have chosen better. No hint of a prelude. My mother, five children, their 22 years of bliss, poet father, my hero, and then…

dad’s suitcase
by the door
full of fireworks

~ Kathabela

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Michele L. Harvey

Every family has its secrets. These can be known between family members, remain unspoken or forever hidden. Some exist as only a slight niggling doubt, too slender an idea to be discussed. But in some cases, a secret appears in plain sight, clear to everyone but the family it belongs to.

the lone sibling
with flaming red hair…
autumn leaves
from the neighbor’s ancient oak
blow through our yard

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Mary Ellen Gambutti

was there love
in another life?
phantoms

I created a composite photo of myself at age six, and my teen-aged father, who died in 1974 before I could identify him in my search for natural kin two years ago.

my wildest dreams
fulfilled
to learn
from where
I came

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through fog
i seek a memory
of what til yesterday
i would
never know

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Robin Anna Smith

Damage

timber moon where winds collide violins

my grandmother and I are arguing again. she never gives without expectation of a return, yet explodes if I refuse her. it is very frustrating but it has taught me a lot. I know to never accept gifts from men. I know to look for manipulation in every compliment. and I am always prepared to walk away, unaffected…

blood rain the sirocco rosins my bones

(In October, 2018, a devastating storm ripped through Val di Fiemme, Italy, home to the forest where Antonio Stradivari once sourced the wood for his world-renowned string instruments, and where many instrument-makers still source their wood for the same purpose (sometimes called “The Forest of Violins”). The trees in the area are said to have special qualities due to the tightness of the rings from the especially dense tree population. The storm is a product of climate change and it is forecasted to take hundreds of years to grow the forest back into the state it once was.)

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aka Bettye

She liked to think of herself as a star. Not a replica of someone famous, but a fireball in her own right. Bottle-blonde hair, pancake makeup, and false eyelashes were just the beginning. She wore custom-made suits, silk heels, big diamonds, and furs—anything to turn heads. Every summer she drove her yellow Cadillac convertible to Florida—top down—in just her underwear, to have a tan once she arrived. She waved at passersby.

discovering grandma’s beauty secret plum-colored Sharpie

While her main occupation was nursing, and her volunteer work included playing the organ at church, at night she sang and played piano in clubs. Only her daughter knew about her “side job,” which was her passion. She’d duct tape her breasts to create a push-up effect under her strapless evening gowns, sculpt one of her many wigs, and head out to her spotlight.

memorial service a stranger plays her favorite hymn

A magnet for men, she had numerous boyfriends, even during the times she was married. Over the years, she filled several shoe boxes with photos and letters from the lovers and spouses she collected in her lifetime.

monogrammed pin we wonder who the sixth husband was

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Zee Zahava

My grandmother used to put avocado pits in old jelly jars. She stuck fancy toothpicks in their sides so they wouldn’t fall into the water; then she placed the jars on her window sills. Most of the pits remained bald all their lives but a few sprouted wispy bits of greenery. None ever grew up to be an avocado tree. I never saw my grandmother eat an avocado. Not one single time. I wonder where all the pits came from. And the fancy toothpicks, where in the world did she get them?

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Family Mysteries: Quotes and Credits

Michele L. Harvey, Hamilton & Brooklyn, New York, is a professional landscape painter in love with life’s interconnectedness but also its puzzle. She was drawn to Japanese short form poetry both for its keen observance of nature as well as it’s inherent questioning. Mystery lives in the half light of shadow, just on the edge of consciousness. The artist Francis Bacon said, “The job of the artist is to deepen the mystery.” For Michele Harvey that job description not only has been a calling but also forms the heart of her poem.

Mary Ellen Gambutti is a writer of memoir, non-fiction and poetry, residing in Sarasota, FL. Her two books are ‘Stroke Story: My Journey There and Back,’ and ‘Permanent Home: A Memoir.’ Her work appears in numerous literary journals.

Robin Anna Smith, of Wilmington, Delaware, speaks of the damage done by some family mysteries. She is an award-winning, Pushcart-nominated writer and visual artist, whose work focuses on disability, gender, trauma, and loss. Her work is published internationally, in a number of journals and anthologies. Robin is the founding and chief editor for Human/Kind Journal and a regular contributor at Rhythm & Bones Press.

Zee Zahava lives in Ithaca, New York, where she has recently begun drawing daily “selfies.” For the most part, she thinks her family is “an open book,” but the mystery of the avocados and the toothpicks still puzzles her. She is editor of Lost Papers and The Brass Bell, where she creates online anthologies on themes, of exceptional interest.

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♣ We welcome and encourage your response, especially in the form of a short poem, by leaving a comment below.