12-12-2013, 11:59 PM
(12-12-2013, 07:59 PM)tectak Wrote: I look to where she hung her plates; circles of her time in grime.Poetry to one's recently departed walks a fine line with "schmalz" on one side and "good stuff" on the other (so to speak). Anyone w/a name like "Aunty Del" could easily fall into schmaltz, especially with a rhythm and rhyme scheme. Yours is still standing
The empty spaces on the wall darkened as her days grew few.
Gaps between each precious place got longer as her passion left.
The last I hooked on to its pin, a week ago, it left no sign.
Another birthday gift had joined the sad procession. We could tell
that no more Blacksmith, Basket Weaver, Flower Girl or Lambing Ewe,
Cheese Purveyor, Fresh Fish Seller, Cobbler, Hooper, Weave and Weft
would ever mean so much again… as once they did to Aunty Del.
Adelice Cansfield
1917-2013
Love the plates...wouldn't mind them being even more of the focus, but I can't see them. The names are there, but I can't see them. They seem to be what Aunty Del was as a person, but I don't even "where" they are being hung, except on a wall. I am left with much work as a reader and a piece this short needs to establish its anchor quickly. In the end, I'm thinking the plates are almost more important than she was. Question for you: why is the procession of her plates "sad?" Again, I'm left guessing.