Five Poems by Jennifer Gurney

 

A Whisper of Hope

 

she sits

and gazes at the

Illuminated tree

 

and waits

for the magic

to descend into her heart

 

on the outside she is sixty

but inside

she is still six

 

and in one

Shimmering, searing moment

she glimpses the truth

 

that the reason

magic is elusive this year

is simple, really

 

this little girl

is longing for

her mother and grandmother

 

in order

to celebrate

Christmas

 

and the pinprick of pain

that startles her heart

is the remembered knowledge

 

that every Christmas

hence

will be without them

 

so memories

painful as they are when stirred

are what is left

 

so she must be

brave

to face this Christmas

 

she breathes in the scent of pine

and dries her tears

and walks toward the memories

 

she dances through the Christmases

together, throughout her life

as they swirl and play in her heart

 

until the lasts

and somehow, though it’s painful,

it helps

 

and her grown-up self

comforts her six-year-old self

who feels orphaned

 

and in the knowing

comes gentleness

and the beginnings of acceptance

 

for we are here

to rescue ourselves

after all

 

and the memories

of Christmases past

are born anew

 

the pain

patina-ing with time

and healing

 

and the lights on the tree

sparkle with the love

that lingers, still

 

this Christmas

as she gazes at the tree

she will remember

 

and with it

will come

a quiet kind of joy

 

the echo of

Christmases past

heard and felt today

 

with a whisper

of hope

for the days to come

 

Your Love Lives

 

grief is

a hole in your heart

that never goes away

 

you never

really “get over” it

life just grows around it

 

and just when you think

it’s starting to heal

it opens wide again

 

healing happens

don’t get me wrong

but it will always be there

 

the loss

the grief

the missingness

 

but you learn to

breathe through

this open gap in your life

 

to put one foot in front of the other

to get up each day

and go about your life

 

without this person

was and is and will always be

your core, your center, your heart

 

to maybe have an hour

or even a few minutes

of not thinking about it

 

but then when you do

it comes right back

a boomerang of heartache

 

so you breathe

and walk

and try to live

 

nothing can ever

totally fill the space

this open hole crates

 

in its openness

lie all the memories

and even more, the love

 

so in a way

the grief itself, with the memories

is its own solace

 

and if the hole ever

fully closed

then you’d be gone for good

 

so painful as it is

grief brings back your love,

although you are gone

 

grief is

a hole in my heart

where you will always be

 

as it heals

let there be a small opening left

where your love lives on

 

Your Birthday

 

Your birthday is this

Week and you are even more

On my mind and heart

 

I miss being able

To hold your hand in person

To talk by phone

 

I miss being able

To tell you about my life

And hear about yours

 

I miss being able

To celebrate good things

And talk about bad

 

I miss being able

To tell you how much I love you

And to be loved by you

 

My heart yearns for just

One more day with you to be

Your daughter again

 

Returning Home

 

Returning home

To a place I didn’t grow up

For 25 years

 

No roots of my own

But shared memories

With you

 

In a very real way

Your home has become

My second home

 

Someone else lives

Where I grew up and

It’s their home now

 

But in my mind’s eye

I visit there

Whenever I want

 

One day I’ll return

And knock on the door

To visit for real

 

 

Fingertips

 

I have begun to wonder about

The fingertips that touched my

1926 Underwood model five

That I picked up for a song

At an Estate Sale recently

Who knows if I’ll ever get it

In working order

But for now

It’s purpose is to give me joy

And to help me wonder

 

You are 97 years old

Just a few years short of

The 104 years that my

Beloved grandmother lived

Until she died last year

You have seen a long

And rich life

And I wonder

Who has touched your keys

With their fingertips

Before me

 

When my parents married

They were young -

In their early 20s -

And times were tight

So one thing went

To make room for

Another

My mom had my dad trade in

A gun that he had

To finance the typewriter

She bought to type

Her college papers

I always loved that story

A modern-day

Guns into plowshares story

 

So now I wonder

What motivated

Your first owner to buy a typewriter

In the first place

 

When you were first brought home

From the store

Heavy beyond belief

Filled with metal and brand-new parts

Did a young woman

Plunk you on the kitchen table

Roll paper into you

And begin to type in earnest?

Was she practicing for an

Office job

Or maybe doing the records for the family farm

Or writing a letter to someone far away

Or, like my mom, and me later,

Typing papers for school

 

Or

 

Did a wealthy family

Buy you for their staff

To use

In an upstairs

Downstairs

Kind of fashion

 

Or

 

Did a newspaper buy you

For their workers to use

One of a hundred of your kind

To fill a room with

The sound of news stories

Being written

 

Or

 

Did a poor struggling

Writer

Sell their last piece of jewelry

Inherited from their

Relatives who passed

To buy you

In a one-sided

Gift of the Magi

Situation

 

Whatever the reason

Was for initially

Buying you

Things were readily changing

In our world

Right at the moment

You first came home

 

I’m imagining

That young woman

Who was typing all the

Records for her family farm

But

Also

Stealing away moments to

Type letters on your keys

To a love (as yet undisclosed to him)

Who had moved away recently

 

Her fingertips flying

Across the rows

And she was pouring out her

Heart

And her longings

Through your taps

Onto each page

What she didn’t know

Was how her life was going to change

In just a few short years

 

Her days would lengthen

With added work at home

As her farming family

Faced both

The Dust Bowl

And the Great Depression

Simultaneously

 

When she could

Steal away for a minute or two

Her letters were filled

With heartache

And angst

As her life

Grew dimmer and

Smaller

With each passing day

Many of her neighbors

Abandoned their farms and moved

West or north

Looking for work

Looking for a future

But her family

Dug in and endured

Her moments

At your keyboard

Were a salvation

To pour out her longing

For a fresh start

In a new place

Without so much

Loss, destruction and desolation

Her four brothers

Felt the same

But their parents

Held the trump card

We own the farm

We’re staying

 

Her white pages

Of letters, tucked into envelopes

And mailed with a penny stamp

When a penny could be

Scraped together

Would turn into

Aerograms

Which everyone called

Blueys

As her friend

Shipped out overseas

To war

Along with her four brothers

 

She picked up work from home

To type up people’s documents

On you

Sort of like a modern-day

Clerk and recorder

Or notary public

She typed wedding certificates

On you

Birth certificates

Death certificates

Far too many death certificates

Mortgages

Repossessions

Many, many repossessions

It was a helpful job

Earning money for her family

But it was depressing work

And she longed

For more time

To type from the heart

On you

 

For in her letters

She was unknowingly

Writing a novel

Of her life

Her friend wrote back

Regularly

And shared learned of his longings

As well

 

She kept every one of his letters

And anticipated the day

When he would return from war

And she could share

In person

The thoughts of her heart

But that chance never came

Instead

Her letters were returned in a box

Which arrived on the same day

As his final letter

Finally

Unequivocally

Declaring his love

 

As she read his letter

Through tear-stained eyes

She reached for a piece of paper

And began typing

Their story

Including every letter she had written

And his in return

And filling in the blanks

 

She continued

To type on you more and more

After that

You were how she healed

From losing the

Love of her life

From losing so much

During the Dust Bowl

The Great Depression

The War

 

But their was life beyond those

And in turning to words

She healed

 

Shortly after her first book was published

Which would be followed

In close stead

By others

About her life

About her hopes and dreams

And about the life

They might have made together

Electric typewriters began to be

Seen in stores in the small

Downtown shops of her town

 

But she was loyal to you

You had gotten her through

The worst imaginable times

Of her life

And she couldn’t imagine

Writing on any other machine

 

Although to think of you

As a machine

Was a laugh

You had become

Her best friend

Her confidant

 

When her nieces and nephews

Came over

For miraculously

All four of her brothers

Had survived the war

Married and had families

They each typed papers

For high school and

Later college

On you

 

Their families had

Typewriters of their own

But you were special

You had history

You had your own

Unique voice

And they found it easier

To write their creative writing

Assignments on you

The words came easier

When their fingertips touched

Your keys

As if you knew what they wanted to say

Before they did

Jennifer Gurney lives in Colorado where she teaches, paints, writes and hikes. Her poetry has appeared in a variety of journals, including Lothlorien, The Ravens Perch, HaikUniverse, Haiku Corner, Cold Moon Journal, Scarlet Dragonfly and The Haiku Foundation.