Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Grandma's Picnic Table



Paint peeling, wood splitting,
flies swarming her trailer, sweltering heat
in that clay and lime town—

but, oh! the tart and bubbling rhubarb crisp,
the spicy-sweet hot mustard,
the savory scent
of the best, the best, fried chicken
any of us had ever eaten.

Poor—and rich—
all the difference
in the crinkle-cut corner
of her laugh-rippled eyes.


© 2016 Jennifer Wagner


22 comments:

brudberg said...

Oh I do love that scent, the chicken and that rhubarb crisp, maybe sometimes rich or poor but the love you pour in your cooking that makes the difference.

Grace said...

I would love to try that best fried chicken, yummy. And I really like how you described her, with laugh-rippled eyes.

Thanks for joining us Jennifer and wishing you a happy week.

Buddah Moskowitz said...

This took me back to summer barbeques at my Grandma Trini's house in Los Angeles. Esp loved:
"in the crinkle-cut corner
of her laugh-rippled eyes."
This was a sweet and evocative piece - thanks, Mosk

Jilly said...

Ah! Rhubarb - one of the great scents and taste of this world! Love this poem :)

Fireblossom said...

Perfect for this time of year.

Anonymous said...

What wonderful memories Jennifer. What would we do without grandmothers and their cooking. I'm wanting some rhubarb right now. I would love to grow it but I understand it really can take over the garden. So glad you joined us.

Charley said...

"...the crinkle-cut corner
of her laugh-rippled eyes."

Perfect! Great poem.

Sandra Cox said...

So descriptive I could smell the food.

Walt Wojtanik said...

The images leap off the page and the scents are vividly written.

Wendy Bourke said...

A truly beautiful reminiscence expressed with such love and tenderness. That last stanza left a lump in my throat. Another evocative - very special - family centric piece (at which your gift for capturing that magic is simply wonderful).

Sanaa Rizvi said...

the tart and bubbling rhubarb crisp,
the spicy-sweet hot mustard,
the savory scent
of the best, the best, fried chicken

Oooh this is just yum!! :D

Tank said...

I feel like I'm there! I can just see her smiling right now - great poem :)

Susan Anderson said...

I so love and agree with the last verse. Touched my heart, this.

Anonymous said...

Laugh-rippled eyes! This poem is rich in sound and scent, both. A pleasure to read!

C.C. said...

This perfectly represents how and why food and the memories of our loved ones go so closely hand-in-hand :-)

tonispencer said...

Beautiful. Laugh rippled eyes...and it is true, everyone's grandmother makes the best fried chicken. I know mine made the best.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

I love those smile lines around her eyes. She sounds well content.

Anonymous said...

" in the crinkle-cut corner
of her laugh-rippled eyes"
Love this, but you had me at the rhubarb crisp!

Margaret said...

I know I've read this before and loved it as I recognized it right away - must have been unable to post response for one reason or another at the time. I consider this a perfect poem - heart felt and it puts me right there.

Audrey Howitt aka Divalounger said...

Love this Jen--my grandmother was a small Russian woman with crinkly blue eyes and a kitchen of love--this made me think of her today!

janetld said...

What a delicious, vividly detailed, and sensitive poem!

grapeling said...

oh dang. now I want some chicken. and to talk to my grandma, may she rest in peace ~