Memoir Writing 101

By Elizabeth Aharonian Moon

The day the live poet came to our memoir class

We looked at his chubby face, at his eyes, candescent

as  he read his poems from a fat notebook, marked with rips of paper.

And we listened as he spoke and wrote words on the old chalk board

clicking the t’s, the E’s, the H’s, noisy and messy

all rushing downward.

We had to tilt our necks to read his notes;

We had to lift our chins and tilt our heads (again)

as we listened to his words:

     
     Write what is true, he wrote and said

     Write what you know and then some, he said and wrote

     Write about loss and love

     teachers and bicycles

     Write about home and away

     Write about the quicksand in your lives.

April 19, 2013 – Boston Marathon  

by Lauraine Alberetti Lombara

The greening marsh welcomes a crane,

Stark white on the inlet – no ice remains.

Vocal robins, cardinals, a nuthatch

All come north for winter has fled.

Our Vernal Equinox heralds new life:

Lush growth, balmy days, sensuous nights.

Paschal rites – colors purple and green,

Asparagus and aubergine.

Expectant moments full of wonder,

Then bomber madness startles like thunder.

Here the terror has begun,

Lives are shattered as people run.

Prayer-filled days, nights of unease,

Help us God! One hears the pleas.

Darkness need not last forever,

Hope is for a life made better.

Dawn arrives with rays of light;

Pathways marked for sight and right.

The sun is warm, the sky so blue,

Bulbs bloom brightly. We must, too.

The 5:35 p.m.

by Mary Higgins

Sitting on the platform, waiting for the train, 

Far from my favorite past-time, I consider it a strain. 

Wasted time is how I view it, and furthermore, I freeze! 

Clothed just like an Eskimo to protect me from a breeze.

Crammed in little boxes that roll on wheels of steel, 

people coming home from work, so hungry for a meal.   

Most everyone’s exhausted;it’s rare when someone talks

Passengers are resting, as the train car gently rocks.

The start of evening song as the day comes to a close 

Each passenger embarking, waking from a simple doze. 

To me it’s like a lullaby with pauses on the way 

A cadence that is slowing, the close of another day.

Mary Higgins Ⓒ 2015

The House of Tomorrow
by Liz Ciampa

The house of Tomorrow
Holds hope for all:
Its cabinets lay bare,
Ready to be filled with life.

I look forward to that house
For you both, as I stand still
And stable here. 
I cannot go with you,

But I can guide you,
Direct you there.  So today
I imagine you as grandmothers,
Looking back on life together,

Laughing.  You will remember me
With love and hope; I will remember
Your eyes dancing as
I entertain you

With mobiles and baby books
And your favorite teddy bears.


(Ciampa, Liz.  Good for Everyday Use.  Boston, MA: Big Table Publishing Co., 2012. p. 35. Print.)

Coffee Cup

by Law Hamilton

I saw the coffee cup and at first thought it would be gone tomorrow.  Its owner must have left it to take a stroll on the beach on such a fine day, casually placing on the boulder at the end of the seawall.   As if, its owner had just stepped away and would be right back.  But the next day, Coffee Cup was still there, and remained on the third day.  

Seeing it became part of the process of getting to the the beach.  Coffee Cup  had personality and seemed lonely.  I am not sure when I became fixated with it.  I started to take its picture, with the iphone and the big girl camera.  It became a fixture, like the stairs down to the sand.  “Coffee Cup was still there this morning,” I would remark after a walk. Texts of its current status were sent.

Cheaply made, not even a printed logo, gave meaning to “single use” of the take-away paper cup.  It stood waiting, for weeks into months.   Coffee Cup saw the patterns of the tides coming and going, and of days turned into nights.  It saw the clouds roll past, and the rain turn to snow. The plastic snug fitting lid kept the contents intact.  Over time, the paper seams started to seep and stain Coffee Cup from the inside.  It remained seated at a jaunty angle, waiting for a hand to pick it up.

A Nor'easter took Coffee Cup.  

It  was found in the detritus and seaweed after a particularly high tide.  

                                 

A String of Pearls

by Charlotte Savage

Today Sarah received a letter from her aunt, it read:
“Dear Sarah, missing you, and missing our wonderful times together.”
       Love You,
       Aunt Ida

 This simple note, signed with a shaky and barely legible signature, brought back wonderful memories to Sarah. She remembered the many good times that she and Aunt Ida, her mother’s sister, had shared over the years while vacationing together. However, Sarah’s most meaningful memory is that of the year 1942, when she was twelve years old. Aunt Ida called her one warm summer's day and asked if she would like to visit her for a two-week vacation in her home by a lake in Worcester, Massachusetts.

 "Uncle Phil and Cousin Ron are going on a two week vacation to New York," she told Sarah, "Joan and Ann will be in camp; there will be just the two of us."

 Sarah, usually so quiet and shy, shouted the good news to her mother! She would spend two whole weeks with her favorite Aunt in the whole world!

 Together they went swimming, took boat rides, and enjoyed picnic lunches under pine trees. They talked a lot; quiet, shy, Sarah shared her feelings about home, school, and friends with her aunt.

 The days flew; the second week of Sarah’s vacation was coming to a close. Aunt Ida saw Sarah’s reluctance to end the vacation.  She actually had tears; she didn't want to leave. Her aunt’s home had all the love and acceptance that any child could wish for. Each night Sarah was tucked into bed and kissed goodnight just as Aunt Ida did with her own children.

 Two days before Sarah was to return home, Aunt Ida said, "Sarah, school begins in a week, we need to go shopping. You will need a new dress for your first day."

 Sarah had never owned a new dress before. Her clothes were hand-me-downs from her older sister and her cousins who were all tall and thin while she was chubby by comparison.

 The department store Aunt Ida took her to was the largest Sarah had ever seen. As they passed the perfume counter Sarah smelled the aroma of red roses which to this day is her favorite scent. Passing the jewelry counter they arrived at the girl’s clothing department. "Pick out the dresses you want to try on," said Aunt Ida.

 This could have been a monumental decision for Sarah to make except for the fact that one dress stood out from all the rest. "This is the one," she told Aunt Ida.

 In the dressing room Sarah slipped the dress over her head. As it slid over her body she marveled at how soft it felt to the touch. Just like the silky ears of the newborn kittens she had played with that very morning.

 The dress was a beautiful shade of dusty rose and gave her olive complexion a pink glow. Slowly she pirouetted in front of the mirror taking in the beauty of the dress. In the center of the low round neckline was a small bow. The short sleeves fell into gathers ending just above the elbow. The dress had an empire waistline and the material fell in a straight line widening at the hem. Sarah turned this way and that in front of the mirror admiring it.

 Aunt Ida was waiting impatiently outside the dressing room door. "Come out and show me how you look," called Aunt Ida. Sarah stepped out in front of her.

 "You look wonderful!" said Aunt Ida giving her a hug. "That color is perfect on you but there is just one thing missing, that low neckline could do with some jewelry."

 Off Aunt Ida went to the jewelry department returning with a string of graduated pearls. They were the most beautiful pearls Sarah had ever seen. Aunt Ida placed the pearls around her neck and closed the clasp. "Now let's take another look at you," said Aunt Ida, as she led Sarah back to a three way mirror. Sarah looked at her reflection. She could hardly believe that it was she!

 "We will take the dress and the pearls," Ida told the sales lady.

 "Are you sure?" Sarah asked Aunt Ida.  Ida smiled and nodded.

 "What about cousins Joan and Ann? Sarah asked Aunt Ida. “They might want a dress like this, too!" Sarah knew her aunt was not a wealthy woman.

 "Sarah," said Aunt Ida, "this dress will never look as pretty on anyone else as it does on you. It is my special gift to you."

 Sarah hugged Aunt Ida and thanked her for her generosity. She wore the dress Aunt Ida bought her for several years, actually until it was threadbare. The remains of the pearls are still in its original battered and faded cardboard box. The string that held these pearls together disintegrated many years ago the pearls luster dulled with the passing of time. Yet, to Sarah they are still one of her most valued possessions.

 Many years later, Sarah learned that Aunt Ida had given up a vacation in New York City with her husband and son in order to spend those two precious weeks with Sarah.

 There have been many happy times that they have shared together since then even after Aunt Ida moved to the West coast and Sarah had married. Sarah’s husband and children adored Aunt Ida just as much as she did and they always welcomed her into their home with open arms.

 Recently, Sarah had written to Aunt Ida reminiscing about that long ago childhood vacation still so vivid in her memory after more than sixty years. She thanked her once again for caring and sharing; Aunt Ida had been her role model her entire life.

 Ida‘s answer to Sarah’s letter, treasured as much as the box of pearls, said it all for both of them.

 “Missing you and missing our wonderful times together.” (Aunt Ida died in 2002 at the age of 96)

© 2011 Charlotte Savage all rights reserved 

The Commuter

by Beth Alexander Walsh

     The anticipation grows as I make my way through North Station. She is a constant vision in my head as I stand in the queue at Dunkin Donuts to order coffee for the commute home. She is a creature of habit; always in the same window seat, with her blue water bottle peeking from the top of her purse. I now picture her there, with light pouring through the window, changing her brown curls to the color of soft caramel.

     I give my order and pay for the coffee and slide to the next line. It is here in North Station that I plan our “date nights”. This time, I envision us in the North End, gazing at each other over plates of homemade linguini and glasses of Chianti. After dinner we hold hands as we walk down Hanover Street in search of the perfect cannoli, and I tease her about her taste in YouTube videos, and biting her lip while she plays Candy Crush.

     Smoothing down my tie and adjusting the messenger bag on my shoulder, I grab my coffee and head to the track where our train sits. I immediately search her out as I board the car. She is there, in her usual seat wearing my favorite blue and white scarf and sitting with a woman I do not recognize. Their discussion is animated as I head down the aisle. She glances up at me and I continue past her seat, sitting diagonally behind to avoid interrupting their conversation.

     As the train rolls on I learn they are former high school friends, and I hear each asking “ Have you seen?” or “Did you know?” and gasping or giggling depending on the answer. Leaning forward, I look over at her flushed face and wide smile and my heart stops. She is everything to me.

     The conductor anounces the next stop; her stop, and I wonder if she and the friend will disembark together. As the train slows, they hug and she rises from her seat.

     “It was so wonderful running into you Karen, we should go out one night soon.” the friend suggests.

     “I would love that!” she replies, while turning slightly as she stands in the aisle. Our eyes meet and I nod my head. She makes her way up the aisle and out to the platform and I glance out the window, as the train lunges forward to it's next destination. She turns, and looks towards my window. I watch until I can no longer make out her figure, and smile.

     At last I know her name.