A Division of Goods
by Arvilla Fee
When grandma passed
oh, you should have seen
how the children, grandchildren,
cousins, aunts and uncles
fought over her possessions.
She wasn’t rich by any means,
but she had stuff—you know,
collectibles, antiques, pictures,
a set of china (which may have
been worth something).
But the way they carried on,
well, you would have thought
they stood to gain millions,
and it soon became a contest
about whom was the closest,
who knew her best, who she’d
want to have this thing or that,
and I let them squabble
because all I wanted was one
teaspoon, the one she’d used
every day to stir her hot tea,
the silver one with a flat handle,
the one she would lick remnants
of honey from before setting it
beside her cup on a saucer.
So, I took that one spoon;
I don’t think anyone noticed.
Today I stir my tea, savor the
honey, and she’s sitting here,
grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
Bio: Arvilla Fee lives in Dayton, Ohio, teaches English for Clark State College, and is the managing editor for the San Antonio Review. She has published poetry, photography, and short stories in numerous presses, including Calliope, North of Oxford, Rat’s Ass Review, Mudlark, and many others. Her poetry books, The Human Side and This is Life, are available on Amazon. Arvilla loves writing, photography and traveling, and she never leaves home without a snack and water (just in case of an apocalypse). Arvilla’s favorite quote in the whole word is: "It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.” ~ Henry David Thoreau. To learn more about her work, you can visit her website: https://soulpoetry7.com/
Grill
by James B. Nicola
It used to be
that when someone in the middle of making me a cheese sandwich asked,
"You want me to put it in the oven for you?",
I could never decide if I wanted the maker to melt the cheese or not.
Of course, any cheese improves with but a modicum of melting.
But as a youth, I strove to be low maintenance.
To ask someone to do something extra
like grilling it
for me
was just not who I was.
Once, visiting a friend, we went into the kitchen at noon
and finally sat down and ate grilled cheese sandwiches at 2:00.
Maybe 2:30.
We laugh about it even to this day.
Since then,
whenever the answer to such a question
doesn't really matter
but could take a couple of lifetimes to decide—
I flip a coin and save an hour or two.
Or two-and-a-half.
When it comes to cheese on bread, though,
I don't need a coin.
I simply say
right away:
Sure,
stick it in the oven!
because I am not quite who I was.
Bio: James B. Nicola is a frequent contributor to Green Silk. The latest of his eight full-length poetry collections is Natural Tendencies. His nonfiction book Playing the Audience won a Choice magazine award. He has received a Dana Literary Award, two Willow Review awards, Storyteller's People's Choice magazine award, one Best of Net, one Rhysling, and eleven Pushcart nominations—for which he feels both stunned and grateful.
Ruff Days
by Bob Hoffman
The last of the pack loved to curl up
and go to sleep under the woodstove,
and just before the
injection, I recall,
Wolf curled up
and licked my hand.
Then there was Skipper,
the pup that never tired of running.
Even while sleeping,
those legs kept going.
She’d be running still if
her kidneys hadn’t failed.
Scottie got hit by a car,
not once,
but twice,
and the second time,
I guess God beamed him up.
Frisky bit the neighbor kid,
and when the animal control officer came,
I led him to my dog,
and felt like Benedict Arnold.
Brownie liked to chase school buses,
Until he caught one,
and I’ve never wept on the last
day of school before
or since.
I’ve had a few friends over the years
good friends, terrific friends,
but the friends I remember the most
I remember in dog years.
Bio: Bob Hoffman is a retired nurse who dabbles in gardening, outdoor exploration with his dog, Chex, poetry and fiction writing.
