a series of poems by Olga Dugan
Patience. That’s the secret ingredient.
My grandmother, who we all call Mama, and all of her sisters don’t come into the kitchen without it…
The high desert where they dropped,
me with a group ten boys so broken
they dared not speak unless propped
up by staff, was so silent all words went unspoken….
If you were a deerfly circling, dive-bombing as she trots along the path through the pasture, you’d see that, Kathie, in her second year on the farm, is dressing like she means to stay…
Jack closed the door gently and we were alone, finally. I wanted nothing more than to throw myself against his chest, to feel those strong arms come around me…
A nightly ritual of pacing, swaying you against me
My voice sings nonsense once all the lyrics are gone …
Some people are born with salt in their wounds
but I will stop putting in more.
I will plant some flowers in my garden…
Squat. Get low down to the earth. Hover there. Ground yourself.
You will have to. There’s no other choice. It is too hard to remain standing. The pain can be overwhelming...
We’re the only ones at the quiet restaurant, so Kale asks the server and bartender for their names. She does this whenever we meet someone new, and every time, I watch the person light up...
Running running
Time is clocking
Rushing rushing…
One day at a time
In the light of day, he is even more handsome
No concept of time…
I come from a line of women made of half love and half steel, though at first glance you wouldn’t know the steel is there. We’re trick mirrors, the women in this family…
Unraveling over the past year, caught between dread and joy in a world careening, I decide to choose my own isolation and give the mountains a try…
Somewhere
under the scintillating night sky
a river of gleaming silver cuts…