The Innisfree Poetry Journal www.innisfreepoetry.org by Angela Patten
Sweet Aftons
How I loved to watch my father savor all his small indulgences—a packet of ten Sweet Aftons and The Meath Chronicle, the ink still wet on its whispery pages. He would sit in his armchair by the fire, a fragrant cigarette between his fingers, the newspaper open on his lap, reading the news of friends and relations, who had won the All-Ireland Hurling Match, who had married, who had died. The half-closed packet lay on the table, its gold calligraphy curling over the side: Flow gently, sweet Afton! amang thy green braes, Flow gently, I’ll sing thee a song in thy praise. It was a message from another continent, like Robert Louis Stevenson’s drooping mustache, Nathaniel Hawthorne’s high starched collar or Louisa May Alcott’s elaborate ringlets on the pack of Authors playing-cards Mammy’s cousin sent over from America. Or the forlorn lovers separated by a cruel father who gazed at each other from the blue-and-white world of her willow-pattern plates— a promise of poetry, of mystery, of everything I dreamed about but couldn’t name. At Christmas we saved the empty packets to dress in wrapping paper, tie up with ribbons, dangle enticingly from the tree. Beautiful, we thought them, who knew nothing of art. Out In Left Field at Dodgertown, Florida
A smattering of fans in the bleachers. Behind them dark palm trees poised against a leaden sky like a water-balloon about to burst. Groups of tanned enthusiasts sporting neon-colored tee shirts shorts and visored hats arrive and settle into their seats. When the skies suddenly open we run to pack ourselves neat as a crate of Indian River oranges into a shelter overlooking homeplate on the washed-out baseball diamond. Aromas of onions, mustard, pickles mingle with lush smells of the tropics— a Dodger-blue bowl of citrus fruit gone soft in the heat. It might be Ellis Island and I a displaced immigrant hiding behind my notebook’s paper wall for all that I can fathom this melodrama in which everyone seems to know what to wear, what to eat, what to say on cue like the songs in a musical I’ve never seen but all of the others know by heart. Copyright 2006-2012 by Cook Communication |