Forget-me-nots and a Poem for Saturday

I would be in a very difficult position if I were to have to choose a favorite flower. It be like choosing a favorite friend. Each friend and flower has their own enduring qualities, beauty, charm, spirit and individual reason for bringing joy to the soul. On my very long list of favorite flowers are forget-me-nots. Who couldn't love these tiny sprigs of blue sky with a sunny center. I grew them easily in Michigan, but they don't seem to like my Florida yard. I've planted seeds several times with no success. I tried again this year and am waiting to see what happens. While I wait, I thought I'd share my poem by the same name with you:

Forget-me-nots


I was sitting in a Waffle House
Just outside Peoria
Trying to get some syrup off my elbow
With one of those inadequate tissue napkins that pop out
None at a time
From a black and silver dispenser
Invariably jammed
Between sticky salt and pepper shakers
And a crusty catsup bottle

I wish to God that Estelle
(Her name tag reads)
Would spend more time
Cleaning syrup off chipped Formica table tops
And less time washing leatherette seats
With that sour dishrag
That appears to be universally owned
By every Waffle House in the region

Probably has “Waffle House Midwest”
Stamped on one smelly corner
And makes the rounds by express truck
Arriving three minutes before I do
At any given location

At least I can depend on a good cup of coffee
And a runny egg
If I want one

Reminds me of my mother’s kitchenette table
With that yellow oilcloth cover
Always slightly damp from a sour dishrag
Frayed some around the pinking-sheared edges
Dotted with small blue flowers

Probably forget-me-nots
Must be
Because I haven’t

And those cigarette burns on the corner
Where my father used to sit
And peruse the morning paper
Over his runny eggs

Might as well call the cigarette burns
Forget-me-nots too
Because I haven’t


Cynthia Ann Conciatu

HM 2005 Letters Contest, National League of American Pen Women, Inc.