Sometimes to start a poem I weed. Pull things up. Out of the ground. Hard. Harder still. Some of the weeds are connected like chain link and pulling one, pulls them all. The ones with the root far down deep I dig for and never get it all. After weeding, the garden looks fairly the same but I remember things. Today I remembered sitting on the porch at Foalsfield my mom wearing white pants and green earrings like the color of her eyes. She had many good features. Legs and arms and chest. But her eyes were the best, green gold and flashing.
About the Author
Christianna Hannum is a writer and filmmaker, living in Pennsylvania with her two children, adopted from Latvia. Her award winning film Goodnight Ladies is about her grandmother, a famous equestrian. Christy loves languages, speaks Italian and Latvian, plays tennis and you can always find her swimming. She is a sometimes stylist, English teacher and fundraiser for museums. She believes in firsts - first loves, first dance, first poem and first travel across the world. She is working on a memoir - happy, happier, Happiest.