Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Made Up Stories As Told by a Frenchman

Ahh..she makes wonderful candied apples every Halloween,
dipped in all sorts of chocolates and caramels, candies and nuts.
She eats hers with a knife and fork, that’s the only way to do it.
But everyone else, especially the children just dive in.
They wait all year for them.

But then there are the other holidays, the petite gateaus with ganache for birthdays,
the homemade popcorn served steaming in paper cones on cold nights.
The cookies with fruit spreads, chocolate kisses and powdered sugar galore
at Christmas.
And the Easter egg cupcakes with their little nests of coconut and jelly beans and chocolate on top are to die for.

And then, then there are the rich cheese fondues she prepares,
to accompany sparkling glasses of red wines, with crusty warm
fresh baked breads. Oh my fromage.

And you should see the wreaths she weaves from magic every year,
of autumn leaves collected on long walks in the forest,
dried to perfection and assembled effortlessly to grapevine,
and the red berries and sparkles and pine cones in the winter.
Given away each year after they have graced the doorway, living room,
and kitchen.

Her art is a monifique swirl of unknown colors and glitters and figures
that whisper subtly to you, you have to find them amongst the paint,
and layers of collage. She cannot hang onto them, they are all whisked away to galleries,
all over the world. She seems sad to let them go.

Of course she does this all with a profound sense of peace, and in beautiful
high heels. She seems to know something we do not.
It is a secret, or perhaps we are all living the secret,
and she the reality.

~~Jenny Miller

3 comments:

Laura Bray said...

What a nice poem to write about me. (Kidding-is this about who I think it's about?)

Laura said...

You need to send this to you-know-who if it is about her.

Notes From Pippi said...

it's actually about who I really want to be and part of who we all want to be. Your closer to it than anyone I know.