Four Poems by Jennifer Gurney

 

 

7 Up Popsicles

 

One summer evening, 

shortly after dinner, 

we were all hanging out. 

It was a typical 

hot and humid summer evening 

in Michigan 

in the early 1970s.

    

Parents were sitting in lawn chairs 

in the shade on front porches, 

drinking iced tea, 

or beer, 

trying to beat the heat.

 

Kids were playing - 

running in sprinklers,  

riding bikes, 

roller skating. 

 

My brother Joe and I 

were out front of our house 

when the music of the ice cream truck 

drifted our way. 

    

It was always a bit of magic 

when we heard the ice cream truck. 

Our thrifty mom had spent years 

tricking us about this phenomenon. 

She'd buy popsicles at the grocery store 

and when we heard the ice cream truck, 

she'd convince us that he'd come earlier 

while we were napping 

and she'd bought us popsicles. 

 

Then she'd pull them out of the freezer for us!

       

When we asked for popsicles that night, 

it was Dad who said yes. 

As he handed us money 

and asked for us to get he and Mom one, too, 

I asked what kind. 

“Surprise me,” was his reply.

 

Usually, I got a strawberry shortcake 

or an orange or rainbow push up. 

 

But that night, 

it was a different Ice cream man

altogether. 

It was a man with a push cart. 

We'd never seen him before.

 

In the spirit of surprising, 

I got my folks and I 

7 Up popsicles. 

I'd never heard of them before, 

but on this hot and sticky night,

they sounded refreshing. 

Joe got one, too. 

 

It was funny, 

although they were frozen, 

you could still sort of taste 

and feel 

the bubbles from the 7 Up. 

And they definitely tasted all 

lemony-limey. 

 

We loved them. 

 

I looked for those 7 Up popsicles 

on every Ice Cream truck for years. 

I looked in stores. 

I tried to make them at home 

with those plastic popsicle makers, 

but they never worked. 

The bubbles froze in place 

and created these weird air pockets, 

and the carbonation impeded the freezing, 

so they were mushy.

 

When I think of that night, 

more than 50 years ago now, 

it is captured in total 

with the memory of 

7 Up popsicles. 

Purchased from an ice cream man 

we'd never seen before 

and would never see again. 

Makes me wonder … 

was it real? 

Did it ever really happen?

That First Bite



That first bite

of black olive and cream cheese

on tiny pumpernickel

the kind that comes in squares

for fancy dinner parties



I weep

in the kitchen

bittersweet tears

of longing

and memory

for my

grandma



She made these

unusual sandwiches

born of

The Great Depression

when people succumbed

to creativity to

stave off the

ever-present-hunger



My first bite

of this amazing concoction

was on the first day

of our cross-country

road trip

to see my cousins

in the summer of 1977

45 years ago



Now

when I have the

ingredients for these

sandwiches

with that first bite

I am back in

Grandma’s old Dodge Dart

with the crank windows

no air conditioning

and only an AM radio



God I miss her.



It’s been nearly 20 years

now since she’s been gone

but she’s ever present

in my life

with that first bite.

Dipping a Toe in Joy



sometimes

I need to write a longer poem

to get all the words out



before I can write

a short poem

succinctly



this is

most definitely

one of those times



on the precipice

of 2024

I look back



in seeing the big

moments of the year

it is surprising



travelled four times

to see my family and friends

the most ever in my life



published

my first 500 poems

in just one year



hiked hundreds of miles

on my favourite trails

to my favourite lakes



danced under the stars

and sang full out

to every song



rode on the Harley

in and out of canyons

and several rainstorms



shared many luxurious

quiet moments at home

with music, words, cats



felt the sharp pangs

of grief and loss

alongside loneliness



painted

some of my favourite abstracts

soul-on-canvas moments



swam in Lake Michigan

and walked on her shore

your voice in my ear



cried millions of tears

but laughed harder and smiled more this year

than I can remember in forever



in looking back

I see the light beginning to shine

through the cracks in my heart



In 2023 I began to let go

of the accumulated pain

that has a tight grip



and dipped a toe

in hope, trust

and dare I say - joy



I began to let go …

pain gripping my heart

light through the cracks

dipped a toe

in joy

 

I Wake to the Day



I wake to the day

that is

pregnant with possibilities



and decide

to begin by writing

and never really stop



my online class

winter writing sanctuary

hooks me in



and hours later

my thoughts lift

to see the sun has risen



the scent of coffee and bacon

swirl through the air

a poem alights with my omelette



another and another still

as my boots make their way

around the lake



and a song

sings itself to me

on the short drive home



I’m quick

to grab paper

and pen



to capture the song

and the poems that were born

on this very progenous day



I know that’s not a word

but sometimes made-up words

are better than real ones



and the day itself

feels full

though it’s peaceful and calm



for the words

that connect

to each other



bring voice to all

on my heart

the speaking is sustenance



so a nap to refresh

before turning anew

to more words to connect to each other



and the healing that comes

from speaking aloud

the truths that reside in my soul

Jennifer Gurney lives in Colorado where she teaches, paints, writes and hikes. Her poetry has appeared internationally in a wide variety of journals, including Lothlorien, The Ravens Perch, HaikUniverse, Haiku Corner, Cold Moon Journal, Scarlet Dragonfly and The Haiku Foundation. Jennifer’s haiku has recently won the 6th Basho-an International English Haiku Competition. Her poetry has also been accepted into the Ars Nova Shared Vision project in Colorado and will be turned into a choral piece and performed in a series of concerts in the Denver area this June.