These poems are published connected to a series of workshops produced in partnership between Day Eight and the East Rock Creek Senior Village supported by a Creative Spark grant from the DC Commission on the Arts and Humanities.
 

Short Age: a Double Whammy

I am short, getting shorter.
Meet the incredible shrinking woman.

Short is:
The top two shelves always bare-naked
Unused, undusted.

Short is:
Plotting my exit from a crowded subway-
Two stops in advance.

Short is:
A deviation from the norm.
A statistical a nom aly,
Mar gin al..  Change happens at the margins.

Short is:
Cutting three to six inches from slacks; even petite sizes.

Short is:
The urban version of the hiker, making noises to ward off bear.
Drivers, hurriers, scurries, day dreamers, bikers, scooters….

STOP! LOOK! LISTEN!
I am here. Don’t mow me down.

STOP! LOOK! LISTEN!
Short touches the earth. Grounded, rooted, earthy.
Beware of things underfoot! Be AWARE

Be aware of the unseen, the OVER-looked.
The Trojan horse sat; a harmless gift
With an army in its belly.

Short has its own kind of power:
Napoleon Bona-parte
Robert Reich
Cleo-pat- era
Donna Sha-la-la
Simone Biles
Joan of Arc
Harriet Tubman
Barbara Mi-kul-ski
Mother Teresa
Elena Kagan
Dr. Ruth
Ruth Bader Ginsburg

Short is
Being amused, yet tired of projections
Hey Shortie, cutie, sweetie pie
Isn’t she a dor a ble!
Look at that sweet old lady.
Pardon me while I puke.
Your platitudes
Don’t diminish or infantilize ME
Do you get more by making others less?
More space?
More air time?
More power?
Higher altitude?
Your attitude
Your aptitude
For platitude
Is simply rude
Who asked you anyway?

We all matter.
All have pieces to this puzzle.
Matter
To each other.
To the whole.
Each one of with unique gifts,
Talents,
Powers,

I am
Short: safe, non-threatening, welcoming
AUTHENTIC.
I creep up on you; win you over
I am stealth power
I matter.
I pack a wallop.
You pack a wallop.
Together we are dynamite.

 
Putting Food By

Butts bounce in the back of the pick-up.
We squeal with delight.
In the cab, my aunt drives like a woman, possessed.
Over rutted, dusty roads,
We return from the orchard,
Truck bed packed with
Kids and flats of fruit.

Then, Fae, Bea, and Ida, the kitchen coven,
Begin their magic.
The three sisters, fingers, tannin-stained,
Labor, kvetch, and coax
Skins and stubborn pits from fruit,

Sweetness and steam
Cling to my skin, tickle my senses,
And etch their place in my memory.

We begin the annual ritual, the sacred rite:
Putting food by,
Preparing for the long winter.

The sisters’ faces gleam.
Occasionally, one brushes a stray wisp of hair
From her brow.
The fruits, an amazing palette:
Globed golden apricots, skins intact.
Are ladled into quart jars.
Ruby red raspberries, plump,
Fecund with seed,
Are pureed into jam.
Orange skins coil and glisten,
Pith contrasting with peel,
On their way to becoming marmalade.
Apples transform, translucent, into
Textured sauce,
Amethyst plums glisten in sugary syrup.

All are placed in
The enormous enamel canner:
The spa, the hot water bath.
High steam produces the perfect
Vacuum seal.
I listen as they pop closed.

In the larder,
The crown jewels glisten
In their Mason jar settings.
Larger jars- sirens, temptresses
Filled with oatmeal raisin.
And peanut butter cookies
Beckon us to eat them.

Twice daily, cows welcome the
Coarse hands relieving their
Bursting udders.
Then milk cascades
Down the separator
Cream for cobblers and berries.

Symbiosis of land, labor, and love.
 

Rima Shaffer began a third chapter as she approached her eightieth decade. Vivid pictorial memories from childhood, her garden, and current life can be found in her essays, poetry and books. She enjoys the challenge of writing haikus that linger. She also creates images, using macro-photography, watercolors, fiber art, and mixed media. Her love of color, appreciation of metaphor and language, sense of rhythm, and wicked sense of humor can be found in all her work. Rima facilitates a group of senior visual artists for the East Rock Creek Village. In an earlier chapter of her life, she was an Artist-in-Residence at the Wesley Theological Center, ran the arts education program for the Potomac Craftsmen, and ran the summer arts day camp for the St, Patrick’s Episcopal Day School. As an organization developer, Rima wrote an internal blog on leadership and taught in the Johns Hopkins graduate Applied Behavioral Science Program.

Featured image this post is, “Napoloeon Crossing The Alps”, by Jacques-Louis David, 1800, Collection of the Musee national de Malmaison et Bois-Preau, public domain, via wikimedia commons