
by Lisa Lynn Biggar
Stop that damn whistling
my grandmother would say
while we were digging
crabgrass from her yard.
And stop banging
on that piano—
the player piano at
The Potter Game Club
where we would
gather for reunions
needing no one
to play it really,
the keys magically
playing on their
own, but I still
liked to give it
my own spin.
I don’t remember
my grandmother
ever singing, or
dancing, or even
tapping her feet to
any beat, but, now,
in the senior home,
post-pandemic, she
sings soprano in the
halls, the dining room,
the notes piercing, shattering
time, the staff and other
residents rattled, but
these are notes of survival,
of perseverance, and
when I sing to her
now, she smiles.
Lisa Lynn Biggar received her MFA in Fiction from Vermont College and is currently completing a short story cycle set on the eastern shore of Maryland. Her short fiction and poetry have appeared in numerous literary journals including Main Street Rag, Bluestem Magazine, The Minnesota Review, Kentucky Review, The Delmarva Review and Superstition Review. She’s the fiction editor for Little Patuxent Review and co-owns and operates a cut flower farm on the eastern shore of Maryland with her husband and three cats.Varada J.M is a 10th-grader based in Kerala’s Koyilandi, studying at Rani Public School, Vadakara. After hurriedly doing homework, Varada divides her time between practicing classical dance and watching horror films. She loves dogs but nobody at home wants one.
Thank you! Love the illustration! ~ Lisa
http://www.writinglisa.com twitter.com/lislafleur http://www.facebook.com/lisa.biggar instragram.com/lislafleur1
Lisa Lynn Biggar 589 Mill Lane Galena, MD 21635 cell: 410-370-6933
The wisest follow their own direction –Euripides
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Lisa, with this poem you lift up all residents of Senior Homes. Thank you.
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