3rd Generation Fire
Grandpa was Chief,
so was Dad.
The first firetruck was parked in a bay under their hardware store.
American literature is rich with poems about the passage of time, and the inevitability of change, and how these affect us. Here is a poem by Kevin Griffith, who lives in Ohio, in which the years accelerate by their passing.
Hanner Hart, Hanner Hart, they all called me.
The problem with husbands is, they don’t last!
After Ed died, I was on my own for 45 years,
And it was hard times for Hanner Hart.
Judy Loest lives in Knoxville and, like many fine Appalachian writers, her poems have a welcoming conversational style, rooted in that region’s storytelling tradition. How gracefully she sweeps us into the landscape and the scene!
To commemorate Mother’s Day, here’s a lovely poem by David Wojahn of Virginia, remembering his mother after forty years.
Walking to School, 1964
Blurring the window, the snowflakes’ numb white lanterns.