Remnant
Smoke above the toaster.
I put your flannel shirt on
like the dog who pulls my clothes
off hangers and drags them to her bed
when I’m gone. The shirt is XXL
like everything you do.
That’s what scares me.
…..
This is not an empty nester poem.
It’s a mother’s love poem.
A barking for intercession.
I am the pilgrim, lips to the reliquary
the woman reaching for the hem.
If I only touch his cloak I will be healed.
I am the mother clipping a lock
of my baby’s hair, stowing it
in a tin to keep him safe.
….
This poem is from the chapbook The Size of Dark Cherries by Lisa Olsson (Finishing Line Press)
The Size of Dark Cherries is a poignant reflection on the extended family. Perspective shifts from that of mother to sister, daughter and granddaughter. Through these various lenses familial bonds, decay, fear, loss and joy are explored. The poems weave together threads of personal history, including divorce, senility, death, and motherhood. Musical, spare, unsentimental, these lyric poems speak to tenderness and grief amidst the cross currents of present and past.
Lisa Olsson‘s poetry has been published in Ekphrasis, The Westchester Review, BigCity Lit, Lumina, Salt, and Ginosko. She was a winner in the Hudson Valley Writers’ Center Poetry Walk competition. She is a cellist in the Yonkers Philharmonic and Kort String Quartet. She lives in Dobbs Ferry, New York.
The Paddock Review 