My Great Aunt Claudine and Her Sawed-Off Toe

Throughout the month of July, I’m using Dad’s stories I recorded in the final weeks of his life to share poems about things that were on his mind. I’m dedicating some of the days in July to capturing what he shared with us that was on his heart in these days – and I’m using the actual words from recorded audio, preserving the wording the way he spun it.

Today, I share his fragmented story of his aunt Claudine, one of his paternal grandmother Lena Mae’s nine children, who lost a toe making lye soap in the back yard of her Waycross, Georgia childhood home. There were three girls and six boys, all told, and my grandfather and his brother Virgil were making lye soap in a big pot in the back yard one day. They were cutting the wood to kindle the fire under the big iron pot where they made the soap, and somehow Claudine’s toe got involved. I’ve heard the story two ways: she lost it and she almost lost it. Depends on who tells the story. In Dad’s version, it was just “cut real bad.” When I called Dad’s cousin Kathy, she assured me that part of the big toe was missing because she’d seen Claudine’s foot. She also said it flew into the chicken yard and nobody ever found it.

As I listened to Dad tell his stories, the repetition of common words and phrases led me to choose the Pantoum form, since that is a form that uses repetition. He also had a notebook he kept at his bedside for writing, and it was heartbreaking to see the plummeting handwriting and broken thoughts, like jagged pieces of thick glass on the page. I’m glad that I captured so much audio during these final days so that I can revisit his voice and put the stories into words. A good friend at work, Janette Bradley, inspired me to do this, and I cannot thank her enough for her foresight.

My Great Aunt Claudine

Claudine was bronze, raven-haired, blue-eyed

she worked at the movie theater

fourteen cents bought a ticket to the show

a few more for popcorn and Coke

she worked at the movie theater

had twin sisters ~ Jeanette and Geneva

a few more for popcorn and Coke

Geneva died young of an ear infection

had twin sisters ~ Jeanette and Geneva

her toe cropped up in a backyard cross-saw

Geneva died young of an ear infection

Jeanette lived on to raise a family

lost part of her big toe making backyard lye soap

fourteen cents bought a ticket to the show

stuck her foot on a stump under a cross-saw

Claudine was bronze, raven-haired, blue-eyed

Raccontino Poems

My friend Margaret Simon of Louisiana is always inspiring me to try new forms. We write with several overlapping writing groups. Margaret hosts Poetry Friday and This Photo Wants to Be a Poem, organizes Spiritual Thursdays, blogs with Slice of Life, hosts and writes for EthicalELA during #VerseLove and the monthly Open Writes, and is a member of the Stafford Challenge. She has also published several books, and we presented a poetry writing workshop together in April at the Fay B. Kaigler Children’s Book Festival at the University of Southern Mississippi in Hattiesburg. She recently posted that the Poetry Sisters had written Raccontino poems, which are couplets of any number where the even-numbered lines end on the same rhyme and the title is expressed in the last words of the odd-numbered lines. I raise a glass to my writing friend Margaret today. You can follow her on her blog Reflections on the Teche.

Family Vacations

packing suitcases ~ memories to make
experiencing life before we leave

there is no better way to spend our time
than taking a trip ~ a welcome reprieve

from routine demands, a fortress built for
placing importance in what we believe

things we can only learn as we travel
(like setting aside our personal peeves)

savoring now, embracing family
holding presence as belonging we weave

interlocking fingers: togetherness
fastening futures ~ no regrets to grieve

Storied Recipes

One of Dad’s favorite books was Pat Conroy’s cookbook. I think the reason he liked it so much was that as a teller of stories, Dad found a story about food with every recipe Pat Conroy shared. This was no ordinary cookbook – – it was food for the mind and food for the body. Food with history. Food with heritage. Food to delight the senses and the curiosity. Stories were the appetizer and carried conversation into the main meal.

I thought of our family a lot over the weekend – especially as I was at BJ Reece Cider Company in Ellijay, sampling the ciders and tasted one that was perfectly flavored with mulling spices. I said to my husband, “I like this one, but only for October and November – not June or July.” At first, he’d wondered what I meant. After tasting it, he licked his lips and said, “Ah, yes. I see what you mean.” This cider was called Apple Pie and was described as the perfect sipping cider for sweater weather. They weren’t kidding.

One sip of this cider brought memories of times we gathered at Dad’s sister’s house for Thanksgiving. Mom and Aunt Ann would make us Instant Russian Tea so the cousins could all sip on something while the adults had their own special drinks that made them laugh loudly. Back in the 1970s when Tang Breakfast Drink was all the rage, Mom and Aunt Ann would make a pot of this tea and send all the cousins down to the basement to play board games on the big table while the men gathered around the television for football and the women camped out in the kitchen catching up.

Here is the recipe from my Aunt Ann Downing for Instant Russian Tea.

2 c. Tang

2 c. sugar

1/2 c. instant tea

2 pkgs. lemon Kool-Aid, unsweetened

1 t. cinnamon

1 t. ground cloves

1 t. allspice

Mix and store in air-tight container, and use 2 heaping tsp. per cup, or to taste.

Instant Russian Tea

we celebrated kid-style

clinked cups with cousins

Now that both Mom and Dad are gone, only the memories remain. I’m thankful for those ~ they are what will carry us forward to sustain us. I smiled and closed my eyes for a moment, remembering just a week ago when the cousins all came for Dad’s Celebration of Life. We clinked wine glasses this time, and we are grateful that we are still clinking.

Our parents taught us well.

June Open Write Day 2 of 3 with Tammi Belko

Tammi Belko of Ohio is our host today for the second day of the June Open Write, inspiring us to write poems about our normalcy. You can read her full prompt here.

Tammi explains the process:

1. Use the word “normal” or another word of your choice.
2. Brainstorm examples or characteristics of that word as they relate to your life or the world around you past or present.

3. Write a poem that defines your chosen word. Your poem may take any form.

Teaching Ideas:

  • Choose nuanced vocabulary words for students to incorporate into their poems.
  • Have students select nuanced words to describe a character from a novel studied in class and use the word in their poem.

Kim’s Normal Poem

the day normal changed

normal changed on Friday the 13th

the way things do

when Dad drew his last breath

my brother and I

had gone home

for showers and sleep

planning to return

shortly

but shortly came sooner

than we’d thought

and the Hospice nurse

called to tell us

we could come spend time

with him before

she called the funeral home

we walked in to find him

under a scripture-embroidered

bright yellow blanket

wearing his Georgia Bulldogs cap

as if he were taking a nap

right before the game

at perfect peace

with the world

as we exchanged

a knowing look:

it would only be normal

for our quirky dad to

wear his velvet-sleeved

doctoral robe

and ball cap straight

through the pearly gates

***

he brought tears

and laughter as folks

realized: this is so Felix!

Visitation Day

Today would have been my parents’ 61st wedding anniversary, but instead we’ll be having a visitation for Dad on the eve of his funeral. Mom has been gone for 10 years, and Dad just wasn’t the same without her. She was the love of his life and the only person who has ever been able to help him manage in a way that made any sense. Small snippets of the past three weeks come rushing back, not as a movie in my head but as a bunch of jagged-edged memories without their proper place on a timeline.

I don’t even know what day it is, which way is up or down, or whether I’m hungry or cold. I’ve lost all sense of the hours, whether I’m up past my bedtime or sleeping at all. My clothes may match – or not. It’s that headspace without a comfort zone, where everything feels numb and you hold on, hoping your facial expressions are all performed appropriately at the right times when you’re among people. The feeling is gone. The grief has set in.

this is where I am:

in the midst of chaos, the

corner of nowhere

Demi-Sonnet for a Summer Night

fairy lights twinkle in summertime trees

night magic sparkles on firefly green leaves

darkness of black sky sets stage for the stars

evening’s cool blanket, reprieve from the heat

front porch swing beckoning rest for sore feet

chamomile tea welcomes day’s end with peace

myth’s constellations: such stories they weave

Say Yes to Oui

I find inspiration in the lids of the yogurt I eat. I buy this brand not just because it’s delicious, but for the messages and the pure glass containers that will root new plant life for me to share with friends. Here is a poem inspired by Say Oui to Time Off!

Say Yes

we said yes because

what we know about us

is that we like a big window

and gray and white

and newness and matching

towels and linens

not odd assortments

and light,

plenty of light

and good music speakers

front, back, and outside

for good 70s tunes

and fifteen trips to France but

not going there

instead, staying close to home

but still away, oui?

and time off

to enjoy it

School’s Out Rictameter

One of the things I love to do when I have a little spare time is read the blogs of other writers. I noticed that Donna Smith of Mainely Write was part of the same KidLit Progressive Poem that I was writing for 2025, so I checked out her blog and discovered a new poetry form – – a Rictameter. You can check out Donna’s blog here to read about the structure.

For today, I’m writing a Rictameter to celebrate the beginning of summer.

School’s Out!

school’s out!

what will we do?

camp in state park campgrounds

take family trips to the beach

have watermelon seed-spitting contests

read books in a hammock all day

count stars on a clear night

take a night swim

school’s out!

What Your Feet Know

In the spirit of tiny writing and short forms, today’s poem is a Shadorma (3-5-3-3-7-5) inspired by Georgia Heard’s Tiny Writing prompt calendar: What Your Feet Know.

What Your Feet Know

your feet know

after a long trip

the way home

your feet know

the tight pull of belonging

listen to your feet