Fire Kindled Before you were Born, 6×6, oil on canvas
Last month, the gallery hosted our first ever poetry night. The poet lineup was truly inspiring– from seasoned professionals to first-time readers. I was in awe of the words I heard, the poise I saw, and the joy that came from sharing art together. I read a poem about my great grandmother which ended up giving this painting its title. My Granny was a force to be reckoned with. Having lived through the depression, she was no stranger to frugality– and yet. She had room for excess. She was joyful about what delighted her. And she, more than once, told me I was her favorite. So this one was for Granny. If it speaks to you, I’d love to know.
Fire, Fighter
red hair and freckles, a gift
from my great grandma, born in 1905,
cutting coupons for
canned tomatoes and dryer sheets,
saving used saran wrap
and ziplocks in the drawer
next to the gas burner where
I can still see her–
a whole stick of butter in the
pan to cook just one egg
I was a teenage girl
in the fat-free 90s
an entire decade of mostly this:
afraid to eat butter;
afraid to disappoint
a boy on the playground
used to tease to me–
take make-believe water into his hands
flick imaginary beads of it
towards my head, yelling:
“put it out! put it out!”
I just laughed,
and tried to look thin
Granny’s still at that flame in my memory
where she’s watching the boys on today’s news
as butter starts to sizzle
asking: do I want any bacon, too?
saying: no one can put it out
that fire–
kindled before you were born