Perfectly Good
The chair broke years ago
leaving jagged oak
at its topmost edge.
Repairs never held and
here my youngest son sits
his face lit from within
like all God’s children.
If I could I’d fashion everything broken
into a greater whole, forming
a bridge to his highest possibilities.
Instead he eats supper
with sharp wood bristling at his ear
and when I suffer it aloud
the boy says, “It’s perfectly good.”
This was the mantra of my childhood.
Spoken over fat and gristle
left on my plate till I forked those last bites
in my reluctant mouth. Invoked with each
hand-me-down, though Jennifer Kling’s
mother always made me wear suspenders
at her house to spare her
my sagging trousers. Implied
in a fistful of stubby No. 2 pencils
my schoolteacher father saved
from the classroom trash can,
the same ones my mother darkened
her eyebrows with each morning.
Today my son helped with yard work
at my childhood home, then stopped
CSI-faced, to hold up a dark loamy figure.
My mother dismissed it casually,
“Oh, the overcoat in the azaleas.”
Her father’s moth-eaten wool coat,
good tailoring still apparent in the shoulders,
was too good to discard, but perfectly suited
to smother weeds forty long years.
Standing next to her in the doorway
I knew identity as something
broader than a name.
This is who we are.
Resilient enough
to chew the fat, hitch up our pants,
and raise our brows— smoothing the way
for our children the best we can.
I grew up missing my grandfather,
yet all the while his coat
lay right outside the window
arms spread wide,
keeping a place for flowers to grow.
Laura Grace Weldon
Find more poems in my collection, Tending.
perfectly lovely
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Thank you dear Bernie.
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Oh, the echoes of my own childhood this raised in my head…..
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Even now I’m still thrilled to be a Clean Plate Club drop-out. I don’t have to fork every last bite in my mouth, I can give what’s left to the chickens!
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My scraps go into the soup pot, assuming it’s not bone and gristle. Actually, gristle tends to go into the Husband, he loves a good chew. Blech!
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Beautiful poem.
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Thank you!
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lindas mesmo!
Beijos linda, tenha um ótimo sábado!
https://viciolicito.wordpress.
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This is who we are.
Your poem is beautiful. Lately I’ve had several powerful reminders of memories I’d put away. This beautiful poem is another punch in the gut for me.
It was the mantra of my childhood too. For example, the cheap sneakers from K-Mart that all the other kids called “foot burners” were “perfectly good,” even though I desperately wanted a pair of Converse All-Stars. When I saved up enough money from pulling tobacco to buy a pair on sale, my mother (bless her frugal heart), insisted that I buy them two sizes too large, so I could “grow into them.” When I was teased about that, I pretended I had really large feet. Then when I made the wrestling team but couldn’t afford wrestling shoes, I wore those jumbo Chuck Taylors with duct tape taped over the eyes (the only way I was allowed to wear them on the mat). They were perfectly good I reckon.
And I knew identity as something broader, much broader, than a name.
This is who we are.
Thank you for sharing this poem. Your book is now on my must-read list.
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From your description I can practically see that teenaged boy trying to plod along in too big shoes.
Thanks for your kind words, and for sharing my poem about haying on Practicing Resurrection a few weeks ago. I’d be happy to send you a copy of my book, just email me (or use the contact form near the top of this site) with your address and it’ll be on its way.
And I encourage others to check out Bill’s site: practicingresurrection.wordpress.com
and Bill’s book Organic Wesley: A Christian Perspective on Food, Farming and Faith
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Thanks Laura. I ordered a copy of the book. I’m looking forward to reading more of your poems!
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Thank you Bill!
And a side note about your mother insisting you buy shoes two sizes too large. My husband’s grandmother gave the kids socks every year for Christmas, much too large, so they could “grow into them.” That was even true of the socks she gave her husband!
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LOVE this poem, dear Laura Grace!
Been thinking so much about you and wondering how you and your family are doing. Haven’t been on FB very much to see how Ben is coming along after his surgery. Well, I hope. Holding you all in my heart!
a
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Thanks dear Amy, holding you in my heart too. Ben is recovering well. Emergency brain surgery has a way of making us more acutely aware of our blessings.
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Beautiful poem!
Liebe Geuesse Monika
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Spins a story – love it. 🙂
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And that chair still isn’t fixed!
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Perfectly good as it is! 🙂
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