Monday, October 7, 2013

Grandma's Broom (31-HP Day 8)

Made during the depression
A crooked tree branch
And faded corn straw
Flecked with old wax
A mouse made its home
In its interior once

It whacked both
Grandpa and dad repeatedly
Swept out the kitchen
Used to shoo off
Bunnies and crows
Out of the victory garden

My brothers and me
Used it as a horse
My sisters swept
Out a fairy ring
With it in hand
As grandma crackled

Old ancient broom
Carried from house to house
Now it is mine
An eyesore my wife says
But it is grandma's
And it still flies.

4 comments:

elizabeth horlemann said...

Hi Morgan,
I've enjoyed reading your poem.

Sherrie St. Cyr said...

Family treasures can be unique, can't they? I have an old yellow glass pedestal square cut glass "bowl" that my Mom has had for years. I thought it was something really special. One day I asked her where she got it and she told me they found it under a friend's front porch when she was a teenager! At least Grandma's broom was useful.

Congratulations for 8 days of posting!

Deb said...

I could really see that old broom working. Love it, especially the last line. Can't part with one that still flies - ha!

Stopping by from the UBC.

Theresa Ryder said...

This poem paints a vivid picture of your grandmother's broom and your grandmother. Wonderful!