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6 Poems by Robert Peters |
A NORTHERN WISCONSIN BOYHOOD CHRISTMAS 1932 CHOOSING THE TREE Snowy imprints of hares. Scat, red blister plague blood smears. Snowy nestled bodies. Despite my inept carpentry, the balsam stands upright. A water-filled pan keeps it moist until we burn it after Christmas. TRIMMING THE TREE A bubble-glassed Santa, a flaxen-haired doll, onion-shaped spires with radiant centers-- treasures from Mom's North Dakota girlhood. Orange jewels, glass bells, red and green glass beads, wax candle barber poles. Dad plays carols on his squeeze box for time, for sleigh bells. CHRISTMAS COOKIES Raisins ground with lemon peel, sealed between water glass mouth-shaped doughy rounds of dough with fluted edges, slits for steam. Dozens, each frosted with fresh butter icing, with red and green sprinkles. CHRISTMAS PROGRAM While watering the cow, with steam from the barrel engulfing pages torn from Compton's held in the air, I memorize "Christmas in Other Lands." That night, babies wail. Dads are outside smoking. Reciters behind draped bed sheets burble and stomp. Blocked in mid-sentence, my words clog, strangled, beneath my tongue. THE CUT GLASS PLATE Quarters jimmied from banks with iron Keystone cops who flip coins into slots. Mom smoothes her hands over the new quilts, strokes shirts and dresses, loves her living room roses and geraniums. The clerk offers a birch bark squaw, but we buy a cut-glass plate for a dollar. "It's made of jewels," Mom says, holding it to the light. SANTA CONUNDRUMS He knew every Christian child on earth, and gave luxury toys to some and shoddy ones to others. When did you stop believing, Wilma? Dad trudged to the door with a box of oranges. "You're Santa," I said. "Stay up tonight, Smartie, and see." I lay beside my brother staring where pine boards formed Vs, and hornet dung residue crammed holes under the eaves. I no longer believed. These poems are from a manuscript forthcoming from Red Hen Press called FAMILIAL LOVE AND OTHER MISFORTUNES. The poems constitute the opening section, on a boyhood Christmas |
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