Auntie – A Poem

I’m finding a lot of synchronicity with this ekphrastic poetry series. Or it could just be that I’m drawn to art which infuses everyday activities with quiet dignity.

The artist here is James McNeill Whistler, he of Whistler’s Mother. He’s captured such a serene moment, literally a window into the life of this woman. That she is in pink speaks to me of her own whimsy, a very definite nod to her, and the artist’s, belief in her place in life as not just a cook, but a woman.

Auntie

She greets you, her aprons, their pregnant pouches
stuffed with potatoes and tomatoes
picked while on her knees despite back pain.

Then, her quarter-acre land, to be strolled, admired.
while she bestows nectarines, gifts peas,
completes a tour of her garden of Versailles.

On to her kitchen, of poppy seeds and
jangling pots, strudels and broiled chicken,
formica, tiles, and windows of cacti.

A palace of lunches, dinners, spiced desserts,
dumplings, fish, sauerkraut, meat
from European butchers. The smallgoods reign.

‘Auntie’, ‘mother’, ‘grandma’, ‘die mutter’ —
husbands, children, neighbours, guests;
even dogs, year-round fed and feted.

The only price — to hear of her bloated
legs, her aching bones, the arthritis,
and the gout, and the pain. The pain.

©elsp 2025