Friday, February 27, 2009

Sun Catcher

Delia was my grandmother. I can still see her in that cold kitchen, the old wood-burning stove starting to throw out some heat, the skillet in place, waiting for warmth, a dab of oleo, an egg.

The kitchen faced west, but there was a side window that caught a bit of the morning sun. That's where the "film of frost gathered the gold ... poured it softly, like warm milk ... "

Of course, our memories become polished with much handling ... they take on a sheen far beyond that of the original event, and that has happened with this mental picture I still carry with me.

Oh, how I treasure it. The poem was originally published in A New Song:


A film of frost
gathered the gold
of morning sun
on the window,
poured it softly,
like warm milk,
into the kitchen
where Delia
stood working,
embracing her
with a radiance
like the words
of her prayer
being whispered
to the music
of preparations
for another day.
© 1998

Today's word: sheen
Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:
I like that, This and That. My original intent was not that sort of focus on Delia as the "sun catcher," herself, but I do like that reading of the poem. Delia truly was the sun catcher herself. She caught it and passed it along to a young boy she was trying to rear. Thank you ... I agree, This and That: that's what Life is all about.


This and That said...

"Suncatcher" is so perfect. First, I thought you were talking about Delia being the Suncatcher. And I'm guessing, she was, too.

This and That said...

And the boy she passed that sunshine along to is passing it along to us :) Isn't that what Life is all about :)