Friday, November 24, 2006

Come Dance With Me -- anna hood --

'Come dance with me, my girl,' Pa’d say
sweeping Ma up into his arms.
'Ye empty headed git,' she’d shrill
cloutin him alongside his ear,
her little feet kicking at his shins.
'I’ve the dinner goin.'

My sister Colleen would turn up the radio
and we’d skip and clap around
the two of them as they spun like moths
in the yellow kitchen light.

Ma’s hand would creep, gentle-like
up around Pa’s neck.
He’d head for the stairs, her in his arms,
flinging words at us over his shoulder.
'I’ve something to show your Ma.
Watch the supper.'

We’d tiptoe up; listen at the door.
Colleen’d whisper,
'They’re doin it.'
Us giggling behind our hands.
Pa’d come roarin out, holdin his pants closed
catch the three of us racin for the stairs.
'Git down there the bunch of ye.'

'And don’t let that supper burn,'
Ma’d holler from the bed.
Course it did.
The tatties’d scorch n stick
and the sausages’d turn to cinders
fillin the kitchen with smoke.

They’d come down; Ma’s eyes shinin.
Fingers busy
with her hair. Pa laughin,
'You lot! The supper’s done for.'

We’d be sent to the chip truck… a treat.
Comin home the smell of vinegar’d
tease our noses. Our fingers’d
sneak into the brown paper, shiny
with grease. Steal a few.

Sometimes now when the Big Galoot and I
are fighting for the sink in the morning,
Ma’s soft green eyes smile
out at me from the mirror.
I touch his neck, say,
'Come, dance with me,'
and laugh from the bed
as breakfast burns.

12 Comments:

Blogger Bernita said...

Oh sweet...
Voice is perfect.

6:18 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Oh beautiful - you have such a wonderful gift, Anna. I just love the colour and imagery you evoke with your words. And Bernita is right, the voice is perfect.

9:16 AM  
Blogger Susan Abraham said...

The slight razor-sharp realities of a familiar couple's romance is what breathes spiritual strength into the poem.
Also, you've got rhythmic timing down to a pat.
Ethereal as always

11:08 AM  
Blogger anna said...

Thanks so much ladies and hen.

Bernita as always I am so flattered that you take the time.

Atyllah, it is wonderful to see you back. Hens don't usually have such fine taste in poetry. (g)

Susan, your comments are always well thought out and intelligent
I appreciate them immensely.

3:30 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Oh yes, I can only echo the sentiments of those commentators before me! This is very, very good...however, if I had caught my parents at it, when I was a kid, the last thing I could then face for supper would be sausages! :D

1:04 AM  
Blogger anna said...

DBA! laughing so hard about the sausages! Thanks for stopping by
and thanks for a good laugh on a dreary Sunday morning

6:21 AM  
Blogger Kajgreb said...

This is one of my favorites. This captures a family life, I could only wish for.

5:15 PM  
Blogger anna said...

hey Jack you have it now
you and Mary!
thanks as always

6:21 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hens have impeccable taste in poetry, I'll have you know. Dunno what sort of hens you've been associating with to date...
:-)

10:29 AM  
Blogger anna said...

my apologies to all poetry loving hens
anna::groveling

12:36 PM  
Blogger Saaleha said...

Aah, what a treat. I've missed visiting you. LIfe can be such a pian sometimes.

10:54 PM  
Blogger anna said...

Saaleha, thank you so very much
to go back and read!!! thank you girl!

10:29 AM  

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