Lynne Francis
The tarnished tablespoons that stand
heads down in a jelly jar on the kitchen table
were made, my grandmother says,
from silver dollars. When my sisters and I visit her,
we sit at that rickety table, our forearms sticking
to the faded oilcloth as we sort buttons and
embroidery thread. We never ventured near the root cellar.
acrid smell of kale liquor
stickiness of the oilcloth
severed heads of muddy white chickens
left on the chopping stump
the dark pastel of Jesus in Gethsemane that
hangs in the sitting parlor those
narrow stairs down into the root cellar
We eat our soup, the metallic taste
of dirty coins hammered into spoons
terrified us into silence.
–
After a career as a fundraiser in New York, Lynne Francis returned to school as a ‘non-traditional age’ student. She graduated, at age 61, from Smith College in Massachusetts, where she studied with Nikky Finney. Her work has appeared in The Comstock Review and Naugatuck River Review.
