These two pictures were taken in 1980. I was three and my great grandmother, Mary Grishkewich, was ninety.
Poetry is a place, for me, that connects what is possible with what is impossible. Take my great-grandmother as an example. I spent limited time with her when I was very young, and even though I cannot remember everything about the time we spent together, I do remember some of it.
When I think of her, I think of her teeth (which were missing) and I think of corn, which grew abundantly in the summer months in St. Catharines, Ontario. I think of the time when she took her full set of dentures from her mouth and held them out to me, smiling, throwing her head back with laughter.
I wish I could spend time with her now, as an adult, and though I can’t, I can write about spending time with her, and suddenly, the impossible is possible.
Here is my poem, “Corn,” as published yesterday in issue fifteen, a food themed issue, of The Museum of Americana, A Literary Review.