Janice Ewing: 3 Poems
Allowance
My father wasn’t just alive
he owned life
Gave it to us like an allowance
we spent on the comic books and candy
we craved
He hungered
for us to understand his struggle, his sacrifice
as we peeled pastel buttons of sugar from strips of paper
and mindlessly popped them into our mouths
mesmerized by the lives of Archie and Veronica.
A Mother and Daughter Bake Cookies, 1957 We measured and mixed sweet ingredients Far away there were dangers
Sifting, stirring, sampling the buttery dough
In the lemon yellow kitchen, small and safe
Swelling with heat and fragrance.
– A cold war
Concealed by an iron curtain
Taller and wider than our living room drapes
Metal gray
With sharp creases unlike the forest green folds
So good for hide and seek.
On the day we arrived in Portland, Volcanic mountains watched And there it was
Portland, Oregon
City of Roses,
our anticipation climbed
along with the steep, fragrant hills.
as we searched for the twist of road
that led to your cabin.
hugged by Crimson Glory roses.
On the porch, a familiar blue bike
with the helmet we bought at Sears
resting on the seat.
Biographical Note for Janice Ewing: Janice Ewing grew up in the Bronx but has lived her adult life in Philadelphia and its suburbs. She is a writer and adjunct professor. Her earliest memories include weekday afternoon trips to the library and Sunday mornings with the NY Times spread all over the living room. She enjoys reading and writing poetry as ways of understanding the world. She has a husband and two adult daughters, all of whom love to read.
