Wish Wagon
Hear the clanging pots, the squeaky wheels?
Over the rise comes the peddler’s cart––
horse with head down, pulling the load,
the jolly man just dangling the whip over her flanks.
Pitchers, fry pans, mops and brooms,
a doll for sis and kites for the boys
who run to greet this week’s happening,
hoping that Pa has spare bills in his wallet this time.
Now hear the “Whoa, Nell!” and see Zeke, the peddler,
swing his bent frame down from his high perch,
Ma drying her hands as she emerges from the kitchen door,
sis attached to her skirts, shy but drawn irresistibly from safety
to see the wonders that the peddler draws from his wagon:
penny candies by the jar and safety pins.
Needles, spoons and dime novels.
Cloth for Ma of calico and new boots for Pa.
Rag rugs made by Ma and traded for a bucket
and a wash pan his last trip here
that haven’t sold and so he won’t need more.
Jangly bracelets like the city women wear.
Her brief laugh scoffs at them.
The very idea. But one finger runs them round
before it draws away. And in her eyes
there is a wistfulness we will not see again
for thirty more years, until another wagon
crests the hill and drives away with her,
that look again frozen on her face
for eternity.
Our optional prompt for today was to write a poem that contains at least one kenning. Kennings were metaphorical phrases developed in Nordic sagas. At their simplest, they generally consist of two nouns joined together, which imaginatively describe or name a third thing. The phrase “whale road,” for example, could be used instead of “sea” or “ocean,” and “sky candle” could be used for “sun.” I used my kenning for the title.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
This is my favorite one, so far, of your many fine poems, because the meaning is so deep, so universal. At first it’s kind of like Judy D. Brown meets Little House on the Prairie, but at the end, there’s such depth. Yes, we all ken for things we cannot have–I love how her finger runs around the edge of the bracelet and how her eyes show what’s going on in her thoughts. Things we can’t have, can’t achieve, we who are not of a higher class–and the inherent sadness that goes with this ache. I also love the last lines which I think refer to her death–the hearse wagon that collects her and yet her dying eyes retain this deep yearning for a life a little bit better which she never achieved.
LikeLike
Ann, you are spot on in your interpretation. This poem was actually written before I read the prompt. Just woke up with the first words in my mind and the rest flowed after. I guess I cheated by just using a kenning (sort of) for my title. Ah well. Poetry doesn’t have to follow rules!! Although it is fun some time to try to.
LikeLike
Ann, you exactly captured my thoughts on the poem. Thank you for expressing what I felt much better than I could have. Judy, this is wonderful.
LikeLike
Hi Patti. Does this remind you of your youth? Ha. Luckily the peddler man didn’t come around any more, so we got to go to Pierre!
LikeLike
Pingback: Bearcat—NaPoWriMo 2016, April 20 | lifelessons – a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown