Judith Krum

I WANTED TO SEE

I wanted to see what you looked like now.
those few strands of hair
that you combed from left to right.
That beard, reddish-blond, Whitmanesque.
New glasses or still the horn-rimmed ones
that said 'professor' and 'well-read.'
I expected your nose would be wide and fleshy still,
and your eyes,
the azure blue that mirrored your seas.
Had you taken to wearing a belt
or did your jeans still sit way down on your hips.
I wanted to see what life had given you.
Did you have that sense of fatherhood?
Did you have that look of having achieved your purpose?
How many books had you published?
How many words had you conquered?
I wanted to see what you had become.
I wanted you to see what you had lost.

* * *

MEMORIES LINGER

In the far corner of the attic
Half hidden by Samsonite suitcases and threadbare overcoats hanging from rafters,
Old memories linger in a trunk under the dust.
Photos, long-forgotten keepsakes, misplaced people, lost time.
Faces and places folded into the wrinkles of generations.
No names written on the backs of photos.
A black and white Kodak print of open, tilled fields
Before paste board houses replaced potatoes.
A yellowed program from Rita's Dancing School,
Patent leather dresses, all shiny black,
Red netting tutus peeking out beneath.
Mom was proud of those costumes.
And Betsy, now dead, sang My Funny Valentine
Wearing the flowing white dress that Aunt Virginia sewed.
And the remnant of a sixth grade history project
Assigned by Mrs. Bullis to give the boys
A chance to learn about the hard life of pioneers.
Dad was proud of that cabin,
Especially the roughness of the log-branches
Still wearing their bark.
And off behind the trunk,
A doll carriage hidden under a sheet,
Black leatherette with four big spoke wheels.
That was a Christmas present from Grandpa
Whose fingers were stained mahogany
From 40 years in the furniture factory
Polishing tables and buffing buffets.
And from the trunk's depths,
Three cobalt blue perfume bottles,
Topped with fluted silver caps,
Reveal the lingering fragrance of Evening in Paris.
But we never went to France.

Judy Krum, native New Yorker transplanted to Vermont via Ohio and Maryland, is a teacher, disability rights advocate, and writer whose work has been published in the Berkshire Review, on-line in the Episcopal Church and the Visual Arts, the Inglis House Poetry Workshop Chapbook Bone and Tissue, and several other places. Diagnosed with MS in the 80's, Judy relishes the freedom of language that takes her places that her legs will not. She writes and lives in Bennington, VT, with her musician husband and their long-haired Chihuahua.