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Live Encounters Poetry & Writing January 2023
I remember, poems by Peter A. Witt.
I remember
I.
I remember when I played
in the sand at the beach,
each seashell a fascination,
each airhole left by a crab
something to be oohed
and aahed at as I explained,
daddy, come see, come see…
and he’d magically appear,
getting down on his knees
to help me extract whatever
it was that caught my attention
on that particular day.
II.
I remember wind blowing
the kite this way and that
as daddy helped me hold
the string ball, as the kite
played tag amongst
the cotton candy clouds,
and my dog, pringles, ran
barking after the sandpipers who
scattered with the unfolding
of each incoming wave.
III.
I remember giggling as
the cold water tickled
my toes as each new
wave unfolded, daddy
holding me with an arm
around my waist so
I wouldn’t fall down
and get washed out
to sea.
IV.
I remember a sailboat
healed over in the wind,
me saying, daddy take
me for a ride, daddy saying,
someday, someday,
as we ate peanut butter
sandwiches, with
thick slathers of
strawberry jam sitting
on a blanket in
the noonday sun.
On a farm that’s disappeared
Once
a family lived here
along with their Guernsey cows
wheat fields
acres of soy beans
hen house full of chickens
Once
children played on a swing
hung from a tree branch
waded in the slow running creek
that ran along the property line
Once
pies cooled
on the window sill
the radio announcer
gave the noon hog auction prices
the aroma of pot roast
sweet corn, fresh baked bread
filling the kitchen
Once
Grandpa milked the cows
Grandma hoed the weeds
in the fast growing rows of beans
the peacock chased the old dog
the dinner bell rang every day at noon
Once
I visited during the summer
helped Grandpa with his chores
played checkers with uncle Fred
in the evenings, when supper dishes
were washed and put away
Once
my hair smelled of hay
feet of cow manure
face felt warm with love
and the heat of the sun
Pancakes can wait
On a warm spring morning
when restless sleep fled my eyes,
ran barefoot through the cool dew
laden grasses, yelling in my tenor voice
get up, get up, embrace the day
until neighbors’ windows opened,
heads poked out, curious Linda,
dressed in her blue butterfly bathrobe
and fancy mickey mouse slippers
exclaimed,
would you like a stack of
blueberry pancakes with warm
maple syrup, a rasher of crisp bacon,
sizzling hash browns, a mug
of dark Columbian coffee,
to which I replied,
only if you run through the damp grass
with me, then fall breathless on the ground
and join me in waiving our arms and legs
like snow angels despite it being April.
© Peter A. Witt
Peter A. Witt is a Texas Poet and a retired university professor. He also writes family history with a book about his aunt published by the Texas A&M Press. Peter’s poetry deals with personal experiences, both real and imagined. His poetry has been published on various sites including Fleas on the Dog, Inspired, Open Skies Quarterly, Medusa’s Kitchen, Active Muse, New Verse News, and WryTimes.