Beth Camp's Blog, page 14

Poem a Day 27: Family History

Only once have I chipped iceoff the top of a pailto get to the water beneath,camped near the top of a mountain,waking to snow on the ground,a rough trail ahead.My mother grew up in a logging camp,back in the 1920's, apples savedunder the bed through winter.She brought water to their cabin,in heavy pails, snow or no snow.Gramie cut their hair so theyalmost looked like boys,eased their cuts and

Poem a Day 26: A Quilter Begins . . .

Imagine a little boyhelping his mother in her quilting shop,picking up scraps of every color, playing with patterns,never realizing one day, he woulddraw with fabric such exquisite designs,his own patterns would dazzle quilters everywhere.And so I begin my first quilt of his makingby cutting the fabric, tracing the lines,four fowers balanced in batik,each block builds into the next,perhaps a

Poem a Day 25: Home

When I was a kid, I walked to school past a row of cottages, neatlytucked behind white picket fences,red roses in tidy gardens,and daydreamed of some day my world would change.We lived in a rented duplex, each night, a cacaphony of raised voices,the clink of glasses and bottles,and in the morning, with ashtrays to clean,I tiptoed around sleeping strangersbefore I walked to school.I never believed

Poem a Day 24: Thoughts of Spring

Today's robin hopped in frontof us, the walk along a pine forest path,up to the conservatory, the leavesof willows and birch finally green, forsythia, bright yellow,almost a challengeto put thoughts of winter behind,even as our steps falter."I don't want to miss school," she wailed,trying to hide her cough, her temperature.She'd rather study Greek goddesses andreinvent that ancient world.They

Poem a Day 23: One Day

The first time I made baklava,honey and walnuts strewn betweenthin layers of phyllo,I remembered that stay in Istanbul, the stars shimmering as we walkedalong narrow, cobblestone streets,back to our hotel, our heartsfull of what we had seen at Topkapi Palace,connecting rooms and gardenswhere sultans and harems were once a way of life;the shop where an eager salesmanheld up carpets made entirely

Poem a Day 22: Repetition

Outside my window, a namelessbird chirps and chirps,its song a glad awakeningto blue sky and a sun-drenched day.Winter was too long this year,those days wrapped in snowand cold wind that blewhope into darkness.I know, as sure as I stretchinto each moment of today,that winter will return,as the earth turns,the moon rises,itself turning fromcrescent to full,and turning again,the same and not the

Poem a Day 21: Memories

I knew a man who died of cancer. I stayed by his side at hospice.He gave me a poem, wavy lines on a scrap of paper,no one could read. He asked me to take care of his wife,for she could not take care of herself. I used to be a banker, sitting with other account officersbehind massive mahogany desks; our customers held a minimum of one million in deposits,until the numbers blurred,and I ran away

Poem a Day 20: Memories

I knew a man who died of cancer. I stayed by his side at hospice.He gave me a poem, wavy lines on a scrap of paper,no one could read. He asked me to take care of his wife,for she could not take care of herself. I used to be a banker, sitting with other account officersbehind massive mahogany desks; our customers held a minimum of one million in deposits,until the numbers blurred,and I ran away

Poem a Day 20: Waiting for Summer

My fridge is half-fullof frozen food I don't want to eat.Maybe there's a revolution,or a sense of revulsion,for I'd rather go out to the garden,pretend it's late summer, and pluck fresh leaves from lettuce, a radish or three, two tomatoesblush red from the sun, anda green onion, make that two,their stalks just high enough to add spice.Back inside, the fridge holds promisethis time. I'll add green

A Poem a Day: Waiting for Summer

My fridge is half-fullof frozen food I don't want to eat.Maybe there's a revolution,or a sense of revulsion,for I'd rather go out to the garden,pretend it's late summer, and pluck fresh leaves from lettuce, a radish or three, two tomatoesblush red from the sun, anda green onion, make that two,their stalks just high enough to add spice.Back inside, the fridge holds promisethis time. I'll add green