PARENTING STYLES
My father used to bring me black jellybeans,
those licorice-flavored ones
I hated. I’d shove them
into the back of the nightstand drawer.
Never told him the truth.
He still thinks I love them.
My mother used to bring me apple cider
in fall at college. I stashed gallons
in the bottom of the closet.
Never shared it, never drank any.
Couldn’t bear the shame of
leaving her behind at home
with my father and his gallons
of Chianti.
Today I bring animal crackers home for my daughter, Ana,
I tell her we both need
a break from the monotony
of generational anxiety.
Poem Written By My Grandfather
All her coats smell like this,
mothballs and Jean Naté After Bath Splash.
I open our shared closet,
the lonely scent is blinding.
Mothballs and Jean Naté After Bath Splash.
I shut our closet tightly,
the lonely scent is blinding.
open again, briefly breathe her in.
I shut our closet tightly,
can’t donate her clothing.
Open again, briefly breathe her in,
her scent permanent on the faux fur.
Can’t donate her clothing,
it would be wrong on someone else.
Her scent permanent on the faux fur
No one from church is fit to wear her coat.
It would be wrong on someone else.
I open our shared closet,
No one from church is fit to wear her coat.
All her coats smell like this.
Bio:
Linda Lamenza’s full length collection of poetry, Feast of the Seven Fishes, will be published by Nixes Mate in 2024. Her work has appeared in Lily Poetry Review, The Comstock Review, The Tishman Review, and elsewhere. Her chapbook, Left-Handed Poetry, is available from Finishing Line Press (2024).
OVUNQUE SIAMO 