MUSED
BellaOnline Literary Review
Creater Lake by Al Rollins

Poetry


Pall Malls

Johnnie Clemens May

When we drive south for funerals, the only time we travel,
my father sings “Rye Whiskey”
as she taps ashes into the green Mercury’s tray.
At twilight the fog drifts like rings

over misted mountains where, as a child
growing up in a lean time, she used to reuse
thread from hems, and neighbors gave her
jars of pickles and green beans from their root cellar.

She once dreamed plantations
with rose gardens and tailored lawns,
read travel books on Paris and Rome,
but married a man who could not keep a job,

whose spirals of anger
she learned to climb
while ashtrays filled with stubs.
Three children and too many bills to escape.

Years later in the hospital,
veins scarred by chemo.
eyes closed, her face a pale moon,
she curls her fingers into circles.

Add Mused Literary Review to Twitter Add Mused Literary Review to Facebook Add Mused Literary Review to MySpace Add Mused Literary Review to Del.icio.us Digg Mused Literary Review Add Mused Literary Review to Yahoo My Web Add Mused Literary Review to Google Bookmarks Add Mused Literary Review to Stumbleupon Add Mused Literary Review to Reddit




What Do You Think?

Your Email Address: (kept private of course)


Your First Name: (pseudonym is fine)


Your Comment:


Are You Human?


What is the sum of 5 + 1?





Reader Feedback:
There is no feedback yet for this piece! Be the first to share your thoughts on it!

Summer Solstice 2011 Table of Contents