Two Poems
Fresh Ground Roasted
Mother had it flown into
the islands by the kilo, said:
"She couldn't live without that
fresh ground roasted flavor."
Boiled water all morning
steaming up the windows, sat
drinking it all day and night
watching the sky changing
colors over the sea, said,
"That there wasn't anything wrong
with her nerves that a good
night's sleep wouldn't cure,"
as she walked into the kitchen
for yet another cup, her feet
slapping against the hard wood
floor, the smell of hot scorched
coffee stronger than her never
ending dreams.
When the man
who sharpened knives
came to our door
my son
was frightened
by his wild red hair
his fire blazing eyes,
and
by the way he said
"Knives,
sharpen your knives
real cheap"
and, then,
the grindstone
singing in the barnyard
—Alan Catlin, Schenectady, NY
