Coffee with Glenice

by Susanne von Rennenkampff

About noon, when the sun comes around,

pull the two-seater closer

to the edge of the deck.

Bring a cushion – or two, since you won’t sit

alone – and your special mug, the one

with the painting of the river on one side,

the poem on the other. It is time

to have Coffee with Glenice.

Stretch out your legs and turn

your face to the sun, close your eyes.

Listen: Blue Jays squabble in a language

not heard all winter, chickadees and nuthatches

crowd around the feeder, clamoring

for kernels. High up in the spruce tree

squirrels berate each other, afraid

for their larders.

I get it: the world mirrored

in the boundary of the back yard.

There is comfort in these sounds,

in the familiar, like a family moving

in its orbit, the choreography

too complicated for strangers

to understand.

You think of the last time

you sat here together, nursing your coffees,

maybe a year ago.

Laundry fluttered on the line

for the first time in months, you talked

about cucumber salad, the way

her mother made it: sliced very thinly,

mixed with onions, sprinkled with salt,

and the dressing: good cream, she said,                                           

and vinegar, mustard, a bit of sugar, lots

of dill. How I could picture her mother,

whom I’d never met, like I now

picture my friend. I hear again

her dreamy voice, reciting ingredients

of a salad. It was March. The sun was out.

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A long-time farmer and gardener, Susanne von Rennenkampff often takes her inspiration from the natural world and her travels. Her poems have appeared in a number of literary magazines in Canada and the US, including “Room”, “The Antigonish Review”, ”Prairie Fire”, “Grain”, “The Banyan Review”, “Evening Street Review” and, upcoming, “Cirque”. A chapbook of her poetry, “In the Shelter of the Poplar Grove”, was published by The Alfred Gustav Press. She lives in rural Alberta, Canada.