CREEK ROAD GANG    
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Lynn Ciesielski:

An Eve to Await

 A Prose Poem

copyright 2010
An Eve to Await
 
Tradition begs for forward- leaning Gramma Lacki to address the half tolerant congregation with her exhortations. Her guttural Polish accent was more Buffalo's Eastside than Poland's.  Gramma's sandpaper wisdom always sloughed off our rough spots. We broke wafers, accepted their taste of winter with tongues that would rather tingle from the bite of the anise frosting on the cutout cookies. They might prefer to dance with the sweet of the walnuts that filled the pastry roll on Gramma's table.

Gramma tucked away her bingo boards and  set down her daily jigger of All My Children and Days of Our Lives for over a week to bake the cookies, decorate  and prepare "wigilia" meal. Now mom, sisters and nieces gather and prepare. The kitchen rustles with the scent of sauteeing onions. Flour dusts the air, the floor and the ladies' blue jeans.


The ladies roll the dough for the pierogis. They stuff a third with a bland pastry fill of farmer's cheese and egg, another with mashed potatoes that are almost clouds, and a final third with a pungent sauerkraut. They endlessly slice mushrooms for creamy soup, my favorite. They sizzle breaded fish in a  deep fryer and hot soak French fries in grease.  Mom and one sister shuffle back and forth from kitchen to dining room while everyone enjoys the meal.

The family at the crowded table splits into factions: children vs. adults, Catholics vs. non-Catholics, war protesters vs. war supporters. One teen raises shoulders and voice at an aunt's jibe about a recent speeding ticket.  An in-law snickers about the "heart attack waiting to happen" at mom's table. Their sarcasm braids itself with ribbons of love and support somehow. Sisters untangle that love to band together, give the first great grandchild a memorable Christmas he'll probably forget anyway because he's too young.


Finally as the meal winds to a close, there is breaking and the sharing, papery words over papery wafers, no texture, no flavor. Only we know the depth.

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Biographical Note for Lynn Ciesielski: My background is in special education.  I have an MS from SUNY College at Buffalo and I taught in city schools for eighteen years.  I retired from my career a little over a year ago.  Now I spend most of my time enjoying my family, volunteering, and writing and performing poetry.  I have been published in Nomad's Choir, Blue Collar Review and SpeedPoet's Zine among others.
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