I Used to Eat Red
My sister Patti and I, posed by my older sister Betty. Those are “the” cherry trees behind us. The fact that we were wearing dresses suggests we were just home from Sunday school and church, our souls bleached as white as our shoes and socks!
I Used to Eat Red
I used to eat red
from backyard cherry trees,
weave yellow dandelions
into cowgirl ropes
to lariat my Cheyenne uncle.
I once watched dull writhing gold
snatched from a haystack by its tail,
held by a work boot
and stilled by the pitchfork of my dad
who cut me rattles while I didn’t watch.
I felt white muslin bleached into my soul
on Sunday mornings in a hard rear pew,
God in my pinafore pocket
with a picture of Jesus
won from memorizing psalms.
But it was black I heard at midnight from my upstairs window––
the low of cattle from the stock pens
on the other side of town––
the long and lonely whine of diesels on the road
to the furthest countries of my mind.
Where I would walk
burnt sienna pathways
to hear green birds sing a jungle song,
gray gulls call an ocean song,
peacocks cry the moon
until I woke to shade-sliced yellow,
mourning doves still crooning midnight songs of Persia
as I heard morning
whistled from a meadowlark
half a block away.
And then,
my white soul in my shorts pocket,
plunging down the stairs to my backyard,
I used to eat red,
pick dandelions yellow.
This is a reworking of a poem from my book Prairie Moths for dVerse Poets
Red is my favorite color, and what could be better than a freshly picked cherry from the tree. I enjoyed this colorful glimpse of your poetic skip down memory lane.
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No cherries have ever tasted as good as the ones from the trees my dad planted in our backyard and no pies have ever tasted as good as the ones my mom made from them.
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Picturesque poem!
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Thanks, Reena.
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I love how you have shared your story and how expertly the ending is composed – Jae
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It definitely was a daily ritural during cherry picking time!
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Beautifully done with a delightful photograph
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Thanks, Derrick. My older sister Betty Jo captured most of my childhood memories, preserving them in her photos.
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I remember
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Great circularity and use of colour in this poem, Judy, and I enjoyed the snapshots of a world unfamiliar to me! No rattlesnakes here, just the occasional adder or grass snake when it gets hot – which isn’t very often. I love the phrase ‘I woke to shade-sliced yellow’.
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Thanks, Kim. We once woke up to a rattlesnake curled up on our front door stoop. There had been a rattlesnake migration from a butte north of town to one south of town.
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You’re welcome, Judy. I think I’ll stick with adders and grass snakes!
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A very vividly written poem Judy.
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Thanks, Sadje.
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You’re very welcome dear friend
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I adore this poem….and the black and white photo that goes with it. In the photo, the detail I see are the feet: the one “little” girl has white anklet socks and the other, more “grown-up” has no socks. A nod to becoming a “young lady” in those days? No “nylons” yet…but going without socks made it seem so!
The details in the poem are just wonderful. I hope you enjoyed bringing back these memories and putting them to colors and making them into this wonderful poem. It’s one to be shared with family for sure!
For me, I especially relate to this stanza:” felt white muslin bleached into my soulon Sunday mornings in a hard rear pew,God in my pinafore pocketwith a picture of Jesuswon from memorizing psalms.”
My mother was a strong Catholic; my father not of any domination and not a religious man at all. He used to drive my mother and I to church every Sunday…then park the car and read the newspaper until we finished. He attended church only on Christmas, Easter, and Mother’s day. I remember wearing hats and gloves to church. AND when I was in 3rd grade in Catholic grade school (sometimes called “Sister School” by my father), the boys were not too smart evidently. They were having a LOT of trouble memorizing the Latin responses to the priest in the Mass and they couldn’t be altar boys until they could do that. So Sister John Gulbert (I’m 79 and I remember this distinctly) decided to have a contest between the boys and the girls to see who could “learn the Mass” the fastest! I won! I was so thrilled! I was going to be an altar girl! Silly me. Of course there could be no altar girls in those days. I distinctly remember my prize, awarded in front of the class, was a holy card of St. Teresa! And to this day, there’s a small portion of Latin that I can still recite that I memorized way back then!!! So, I’m smiling now….thanks for the memories! AND I loved your poem!
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Thanks so much, Lillian, for your close attention to my poem. I was about 7 and my sister 11 in this photo, I believe. And no nylons until age 13, as I remember it. What a pain they were. My first nylons were held up by garter belt but by time I was in college at least, pantyhose had been invented. I checked and I was 12 years old the year they were invented. I haven’t worn nylons for at least 26 years. Has anyone? I must have been wearing them when I moved to Mexico because I found a few pairs in my sock basket…but perhaps they were left over from far before. I have another church poem somewhere on my blog. It’s titled “Church Purse” if you want to look for it. You might identify with it, too. Sunday School and two church services were the story of my growing up as I was in the choir..and after I was too old for Sunday School, I was a Sunday School teacher. Monday nights were MYF…Methodist youth fellowship. Not much else to do in a town of 700. Once I went to college, I never went to church except when visiting my folks in South Dakota. After they moved to Arizona, they never went, either. I think in a small town, religion via church is a moré as much as a beliief.
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Judy, you have an amzing way of traveling back in time … bringing it back for us to enjoy, relate to, remember. I adored this.
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So many juicy lines, including the title/opening line and the “shade-sliced yellow of summer morning”. I can see it but your color choices also convey emotion. Cool!
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I loved how you used colors to evoke memories and longings. Your surroundings and wishes come alive!
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Me too, we had so many cherry trees and I would just sit and shove them in my mouth. The dandelions too, they were not as tasty though… but my mother taught me to make “honey” from them…
and I was scared of the black…
Such a lovely poem, made me remember good parts of my own childhood.
Thank you.
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