“Maybe every kitchen is sacred.” … “Maybe I’ll thank every seed.” … Beautiful, Sherman! I have goosebumps. …I just learned about you through my friend, Brianne, who will be featuring you in our poetry month project. I’m so excited to dive into your work! It’s gorgeous.
I came back to this three times just to get well haunted by the familiar. I know how many empty beer bottles and pop bottles it took for a trove of hard candy and chewing gum. I spread my mother's ashes on a spawning bed red with salmon. I feel grace seeping from the walls, even when the kitchen is empty.
My now deceased mother would always turn bread upright because of its linkage to Jesus. I’m long since severed from the Catholic Church and I am much more of a Buddhist but I still turn bread upright.
When my beloved husband of 30 years died, I planted a cherry tree over top of his ashes. Now, whenever I see blue jays come around, I imagine he's feeding them as he did in life.
When our forsythia blooms I remember it came from mother. the root of hers. Fall we spread her ashes. Many of us walked into woodland in 2018. Walked around lost lake. Her favorite place. Great Wy ‘East watching.
“Maybe every kitchen is sacred.” … “Maybe I’ll thank every seed.” … Beautiful, Sherman! I have goosebumps. …I just learned about you through my friend, Brianne, who will be featuring you in our poetry month project. I’m so excited to dive into your work! It’s gorgeous.
Love “Genesis”
I came back to this three times just to get well haunted by the familiar. I know how many empty beer bottles and pop bottles it took for a trove of hard candy and chewing gum. I spread my mother's ashes on a spawning bed red with salmon. I feel grace seeping from the walls, even when the kitchen is empty.
My now deceased mother would always turn bread upright because of its linkage to Jesus. I’m long since severed from the Catholic Church and I am much more of a Buddhist but I still turn bread upright.
When my beloved husband of 30 years died, I planted a cherry tree over top of his ashes. Now, whenever I see blue jays come around, I imagine he's feeding them as he did in life.
dear sherman,
these are all beautiful poems.
i love the ideas that
"it's much easier
to mourn the dead
when you transform
them into something
that's still alive"
and
"maybe every kitchen is sacred.
Maybe every piece of bread
is a sacrament."
thank you for sharing!
love
myq
I wonder….if this tree ritual, this granting our departed souls a home in a tree
Is more universal than we know?
My sisters’ and fathers’ ashes were spread
Under a pine tree, they planted together
When she, was a child. Ashes spread by her children to nurture the tree. And to nurture us today. Happy Birthday, my sister!
In these terrible times your voice and your words are grace.
Thanks as always.
Magical words and love the sacredness of the kitchen one...so beautiful! HOW ARE YOU SO PROLIFIC??? It takes me so long to get stuff out...
You are magic. Your words are spells that remind my cynical and broken soul that I am still human, and that I have a job to do.
Have enjoyed your writing through the years where you dip into faith matters...these wonderful, the last especially so. Thank you for sharing them.
Lovely poems, Sherman! ❤️
As a lifelong advocate for agriculture, I’m a huge fan of that last poem!
Thanks Sherman. These poems are savored as candy. Not always sweet. But so true.
When our forsythia blooms I remember it came from mother. the root of hers. Fall we spread her ashes. Many of us walked into woodland in 2018. Walked around lost lake. Her favorite place. Great Wy ‘East watching.