Four Poems by Annette Towler

 

Light through the window

There is a light that shines in our window, reflecting the intimacy between us and we are unaware of all the hazards in the city, in this very moment as we ponder on the gravity of war. 

The first war surrounds us on the screen, and it pummels us with angst and the pain of starvation and so scared that everything is automated in the actions of the young soldier.  

There is a shadow on your face as you recollect the first war and the folly in the fields of France when the puffed-up bloated generals took revenge through adolescent pawns. The boots stamped into the ground through directives and directors, sealed within their rooms. We gaze at each other and snuggle into the warmth of Native American blankets.  

The soil is splattered with red as the young German man steps into the shadow of the war-torn building, the pimple-faced adolescent with his rifle, bent on destruction, his mind jumbled with commands. Such is the gravity of worldwide warfare as we gaze at each other, glad for the peace within our walls.  

Is it guilt that tears us apart at night as we think about ancestor after ancestor who sacrificed for nothing during the great war? We give thanks. Grateful for the sheets to cover us after so many years of war.

  

 

Grandiosity in Bird World

 

The feeders protect the seed from the squirrels so that the birds have full access to the sunflowers, corn and millet that spills onto the ground, covering the grass with multiple colours of black, yellow and white.  

The small sparrows peck away, flying around the feeders and gratefully picking the fallen seed with their tiny beaks. The family of sparrows congregate on the bush that sheds leaves in the winter and the sparrows gaze with respect at the all-masculine cardinal who sits alone, waiting for his less colourful mate.  

The macho cardinal preens his feathers to attract her attention, while gazing at the seed, hoping for a mirror yet there is no rain on the soil. In Bird world, there are no selfies or mirror to raise into the air without contemplating the force of nature. The feminine cardinal tips her head in modest pose at the splendour of the mate’s feathers. Everything is physically attractive in cardinal courting.  

Chickadee, robin, mourning dove gather around the feeders with harmony among the flowers and fauna, a family gathering of the highest breed. It is only when the thunder cracks do they flee back to the bush in the garden and watch the malignant birds swarm around the feeders.  

The vanity of the cardinals is tolerated in the spacious, open yard yet the feathered friends flee at the sight of the crow and starling, let loose in New York in the 19th century and now an epidemic in the bird kingdom.  

The grandiose, the covert, the overt, the vulnerable, communal narcissistic ones are no match for the force of the malignant narcissist. The cat sits at the window, tail thumping hard at the sight of the handsome starling, purple tail swishing around the feeder. The cat wants to hiss but is frozen by the starling’s gaze of coldness.  

It is only when the swallows gather force and flock down together in one large swarm do the bullies of the bird world take flight and swarm away to snatch from other gardens. The family of swallows wrap wings around each other, recovery from the fright.

  

 

Conflict among Vegetables and Meat

  

There is a grouchiness to the leek who sighs at the way that the chef trims the stalks, 

Leaving the white, discarding the green 

The leek yearns for the roots, makes do with the stalk 

The leek is no match for the Japanese Yam that sprouts purple on the plate 

Steamed and warmed with a knob of yellow butter, straight from the farm.  

 

The green asparagus tips preen themselves to attract the attention of the knob 

Of butter, purposely placed on an English china dish 

Out of arms’ reach 

The lettuce in the bowl merely sighs at the banality of it all because the salad is always ignored 

By the children who live in terraced houses, row houses, back-to-back with an alley.  

 

There is an aloofness to the way in which the brussels assemble together on the plate 

Not caring for the butter, yet secretly longing for the gravy that is on top of the stove 

The chef quickly whips and stirs the brown sauce, smelling the aroma of the roast 

Waiting to dominate the entire dish.  

 

Finally, the chef is ready and stretches inside the oven to retrieve 

The lamb, full of flavored rosemary, scented with mint 

The vegetables gaze at the meat, shrinking back in awe at the size of the shoulder 

Knowing their place, conflict avoided when the chef 

Tenderly carves the meat into slices and caresses the vegetables with a spoon 

Harmony is restored in the kitchen before the meal is served.  

 

 

Old Coat in Cupboard

 

Size is extra-large, too big for me yet it is as warm as a winter blanket 

I touch it, imagining myself enfolded in its cover when December arrives 

It contains your scent so I bargain with myself 

Is it one to deposit in the bin of keeps or donated to the men of the mission? 

Men of no home, 

who shiver on the streets of Milwaukee, begging for a dollar 

You would give it to them as you gave me your heart 

Forever nested in the folds of your winter coat 

Your heart no longer pumping except within my palms 

The cat opens her paws wanting to nest within one of the pockets 

Of the old winter coat, designed for treks and hikes in the hills of Wisconsin 

Old winter coat, be still, not forgotten.

Annette Towler was born in England and moved to the United States in the early 1990s. I enjoy my job as a therapist and in my spare time I like to run. I live in an old house in Milwaukee and have a sweet cat called Marsha.