← Poetry

Combustion

They used to tell grave diggers…. “Always put your dynamite in one pocket and your matches in another.” Winter-hardened graves sometimes needed a bit of blasting And it wasn’t uncommon to see a digger who knew his way around explosives. “Your dynamite in one pocket and your matches in the other.” “Never let them mix.”

When Linda pulls in the driveway with armloads of her salad and Jim’s potatoes, the fuse nears the match. Arms always laden with food, pictures, presents, or anxiety, She hits the front stoop of 34 Ivywood with nitro energy And once the two sisters combine, the gravedigger’s pockets get mixed. The explosion? … Well…delightful.

Springing of each other’s joy, finishing each other’s sentences, Accompanied by Laura’s refrain of, “Well, that’s not the way I raised them.” Vacations, kids, college, shopping, jobs, husbands, kids, plants, furniture, kids, relatives, kids, kids, and kids…the heat of the explosion intensifies with each turn of topic.

There’s much to be said for sisterhood and the two Utter girls become the dictionary definition of love when their fuses meet.

Keeping your dynamite in one pocket and your matches in the other is safe…but no fun. No fun at all. Gimme a match…quick.