803 Monroe

803 Monroe

I needed to call you but
I’d forgotten your number,
the one I always thought
was burned into my memory —
for hours I anxiously thumbed through
white and yellow pages, forgetting
then remembering your name.
Between the pages I could see
your dining room, the floor
tile cracked like a spider’s
web, the old fridge where
all your kids stood before the
open door to feel the frigid
air on desperately hot days
while upstairs pretty ladies on
a calendar lounged without a
drop of sweat to mar their
fleshy perfection.

*****

803 Monroe was published in Mad Swirl in 2013, an online magazine and writing community I highly recommend. This poem was written from a dream about my grandmother’s house.

Morning Meditation: Quiet

image
Rural Misissippi 2011, C.Hamrick

On a beautiful summer day
when the humidity gives us
a break, I walk the dog
through my (relatively) quiet
neighborhood, craving
the different quiet
of the deep woods, the real
soul quiet where the only noise
is the muffled flutterings
of little birds, the rustle
of leaves in the breeze,
and my solitary footsteps
on the forest floor.