Page 75 - WCM 2021 Winter
P. 75

 Wood Stove Wishes
I’m busy baking,
melancholy for the wood stove that burned the backend of a cake but warmed the kitchen.
I miss the taste of homemade bread toasted on the cast-iron
glorious with churned butter
that ran in greasy rivulets
down our chin.
I miss the stink-wool smell
of snow- sodden mittens,
hung with clothespins
where their meltwater raindrops hissed on the stovetop
I miss boots lined up beside the wood box, warming for the morning slog
through knee-high drifts
to the barn to milk
I even miss the barn,
acrid in the dead of winter,
the cud-chewing cows content
to slap you with their lazy tails
if you rested against their bristled sides or aimed a milk-stream to the waiting cat
I’m baking bread from my mother’s recipe but it won’t be the same.
Darlene Glover
Cafe, veranda seats, autumn blue lake,
red-edged leaves,
late noon shawls early season chill. Friends hug the table,
clink glasses and guffaws;
laughter licks ketchup from its lips,
teases ears, tears eyes, pats a shrugged shoulder, waves a fork for more.
As at the ski lodge –
never to ski – but to bask
in the heat of a winter sundeck, smiles open wide, taste
the sun’s whiskey,
the air’s ice;
hands waggle French fries, cradle hot coffee, repartee
gliding familiar slopes.
As in the cove –
boats rafted for Sunday brunch – banter bunches like grapes, spritzes jokes with Beaujolais,
balances on grin-gentle swells,
then crackles like the evening’s campfire – breaths eager for some more.
Alone by a late season fire, friends scattered across country, I treat myself
to memories glowing
in shared embers,
and smile.
Michalene Hague
The Mountain Poets Society meets on the second Sunday of each month from 4–6pm. Everyone is welcome to share and discuss original poems. FMI 75

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