Jan Chronister

Water in the kettle clouds
as I rinse small
green hemispheres,
a replay of dust
that swells from tractors
during harvest.
I whisper thanks
for farmers who
invest in seed,
machines,
endure heat, drought.
I add our own onions, carrots,
cook goodness
on the woodstove
this chilly day.

Soul Garden

I pull up cosmos
taller than I am,
shake seeds out from
dry pods for next year.
Some land in my hair.

I don’t wash them out,
let them germinate
in my brain, take root.
Fuchsia petals, yellow stars
bloom in my dreams.

Whatever the Needle Touches

Yarn embodies
spinner’s spirit,
cloth soaks up
weaver’s soul.

Each quilt piece
tells a story—
stained table cloth,
husband’s shirt,
daughter’s dress.

Fast fingers knit
sweaters, socks, scarves.
Thoughts of loved ones
locked in loops release
warmth when worn.

Jan Chronister lived in Milwaukee the first twenty-five years of her life. She is now about as far as you can get and still be in Wisconsin. She misses the many literary events but finds inspiration in rural life, especially gardening. Jan has authored two full-length poetry collections and six chapbooks.