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Popcorn Lady


Everyone knew I popped popcorn –
one pan after another until every
bowl inside every cabinet in my
kitchen would be filled – then, I carried
each bowl to the front porch, line
them up on the top step.

I knew they were over flowing with popcorn –
a slight bit of movement caused one single piece
to move and next, a landslide,
then another, and another. It looked funny to me as
I would rock in my rocking chair – shaking
loose floor boards; popcorn began covering those
steps in front of me.

I kept rocking, humming to myself, waiting for
those little girls in the neighborhood to walk by
my porch and I could call out their names, offer
them popcorn – yes, I asked if they wanted
to share a bit of popcorn everyday.

They would
stare at me, but I understood, I was this little old lady
sitting in her rocking chair surrounded by popcorn.

I thought everyone liked popcorn – I certainly did not
want to scare them. . . I waited for the day when one little girl
would stop, perhaps talk a minute or so. The children kept
right on walking and that’s when I stared to sing,
“Kookie, Kookie, Lend Me Your Comb.” I heard that song on transistor radios and it certainly caught my fancy.

Those little girls passing by laughed so hard they
had me laughing, my belly would shake and tears fell
from my eyes.

My old house still stands and that old porch needs
a few coats of paint. The rocking chair is gone, but
when I gaze down at the house I wonder – when
those girls pass the house, glance at the porch, if
they smell my popcorn from the sidewalk or perhaps
they remember the song I sang – would they
still laugh?

I wonder, did they ever learn to like popcorn? Did
their parents tell them I am safe now with my own
daughter up high in the clouds.

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