Sandra McGarry

Two poems

Filling My Water Bottle at Walgreen’s

There are no lines, no buckets, no chatter
of daily gossip, no long dresses or vibrant
colors swirling in the wind, no baskets
balanced on heads, no children waiting
their turns while playing made up games,
no men with rifles or missiles, no animals
waiting for water, no chickens cackling,
no feet caked with dust,
no eyes staring into the long horizon, rheumy, blank,
no old women with lesions and old men with bent backs,
no place to sit, no story left to tell for who listens
anymore to how they took daughters and raped…
words running like overflow onto river banks, no women
nodding, knowing, having known the darkness.
No wails when done is done and done
­       in front of them.

No tongue-less sons, no sons left.
No effort to untangle a mangled day.
No flies swirling that defy a swat.

The no and no and no that gets lost in
the arc of water, gurgling, filling my water bottle.

The water is cold and clean, delicious and free.

 

 

Red Popsicles
 

We sit on the stoop.
It’s too hot to do anything

else except to watch
Nelson jumping rope,

the girls swinging
double Dutch,

laughter
all the way to

stars we can’t name,
dream on anyway.

Nelson’s mother
brings us summer heaven:

red popsicles.

She sits, says little,
smiles at her teenage son

who loves the young
kids on the block.

She doesn’t know
that in a week

neighbors will be late
for work

to see Nelson off
for service,

first in his family
to go to war

not one of us
imagining

how we will
line the still summer
streets,

for his return.


Sandra McGarrySandra McGarry is a former elementary school teacher who resides in Colorado. She loves the mountains but gives more preference to the ocean having grown up in the east. She has published in Pilgrimage and Colorado Life Magazine.

 

 

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