Carlene M. Gadapee

Executrix
 
I tiptoed around the house that was not mine,
but mine to clear out, to catalogue, to sell,
to dispose of a lifetime of accretions. In every
 
drawer, every closet, every cabinet there were
secrets. I have memories of a few small things:
a photograph, a chair, a cup, a bowl. I didn’t
 
recognize much, but it was mine to reapportion.
You’d think I could have completed this task
quickly, but no, I looked for connections never
 
built. Only tangled curtains and mismatched socks.
The strata of a life too often closed and locked.
 
 

Dolce Domum
 
My fingers touch the spine of a well-loved book
like a talisman, The Wind in the Willows, and on a whim,
I pull it from among the others, careful not to disturb
the stack. I trace the deckled pages, worn smooth
 
with age and use, and four-year-old me is lifted once more,
wrapped in my nightie, to my father’s lap. Every night,
after my bath and just before bed, he reads to me, chapter
by chapter, patient with my questions. He does all the voices:
Ratty, Mole, Badger, and pompous Mr. Toad.
 
I re-read his escapades and journey with Ratty and Mole.
Mr. Toad, in the washer-woman’s dress, escapes the dreary
prison and I laugh aloud. I will find my way home again.
 


Carlene M. Gadapee teaches high school English and is the associate creative director for The Frost Place Studio Sessions. Her poems have been published by Waterwheel Review, Smoky Quartz, Margate Bookie, English Journal, bloodroot, Wild Words, and elsewhere. Carlene resides with her husband in northern New Hampshire.