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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & Owner
Ray Rasmussen, General Editor

Volume 12, Number 1, March 2018

Katherine Caine
Edmonton, Alberta, Canada

In Her Own Words

dappled sunlight
the fragrance of my grannie’s
favourite tea

I wake early, read the paper and watch the sun bring the garden to life.  This week, little people are visiting.  Our days are busy but thankfully for me, slow to start after the late nights that are part of the tradition of staying with their Grannie.  

Slow to start except for Megan.  At age six, she is the youngest, and the earliest to bed.   Each morning as the sun begins to turn the sky from pink to blue I hear little footsteps coming down the hall.  She climbs into my lap, snuggles under the blanket, doesn’t say anything for a few moments as she adjusts to a new day.  

Then she leads in. “Fart” she giggles, “smart” I reply, “start” she answers, and we are off:   “cart," “dart," “part," “tart," “heart”.  We move onto “kiss," “miss," “piss” (more giggles) and half an hour later end our game with “sing," “wing," “fling," “swing," “bring," “ring," “ping," “string," “zing.”

“Grannie, zing isn’t a word."   I tell her my heart goes zing whenever I see her.  “Grannie, hearts don’t zing, they beat.”  With serious attention to the evolving rules of the game she admonishes me, “Grannie, you have to use real words.”  

sewing seeds –
the hum of bees
in apple blossoms




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