A Poet - Sandra McPherson

Singing Teakettle

Shiny and abject, it cannot sing at the gingham ruffle.
Because Pomida broke the voice off her new teakettle.
She did it deliberately.
With objects, you don't have to consider their feelings
Or feel that a stifled voice still burns on the fire.
She did it deliberately.
Everyone's had a songbird loose in their house,
She knows how uncontrollable--
Chasing it between the curtain rods,
Trying to show it the chimney.

Then why does Patrocenia whistle
As she slippers between rooms,
Or, still whistling,
 Carry whole walnuts out to the feeder,
Or water the black dust down on the terraces?
Even her grave will be a singing kettle,
Working, bubbling, in all memories that visit.

Pearl can see her face in the singing teakettle.
It will show if she is singing too.
She is deaf but can prime music like a choir leader.
All it asks is more fire, more water,
Like the garden that calls sun and rain to grow flowers
For her mother's name, her children' rooms.
From the kettle she knows a song comes
As long as you want it to: press, twist, fill.
~Sandra McPherson

Annie Dillard about this poet: "a miner's eye for translucent color
in the earth, and a painter's eye for the 'hard catchable light'
in the air.  Tough-minded and precise,
she has a genius of an ear."

In this month of March I have rekindled a friendship
with a friend from high school, many, many years ago.
I knew Sandra wrote poetry.
This week I received her book, Outline Scribe.
I am thoroughly enjoying her poetry
and thought you would enjoy this one too.

To find more of Sandra's poetry follow this link:

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/search/?q=Sandra+McPherson