Generations by J. K. Durick


Generations


I remember the first time someone left

groceries at the door, rang the bell and

snuck away before we answered, it was

my mother, as always at her best. Donna

and I were down with the flu, coughs and

fevers and the general aches we associate

with it, and Dan had it too, he was born in

August and this was February, so he was new

to us and we were just trying to figure things

out, aching, feverish and still trying to help

an infant, the newness of it all, his fever for

some reason scared us more than our own,

and in the midst of it all the doorbell rang to

the groceries and we watched my mother

drive away. We told that story to each other

for years, till now not appreciating that she, my

mother lived through the Spanish Flu as a girl

in New York City and she must have recalled

how to handle things like this, while we didn’t,

so many things were new to us back then. And I

thought of this the other day when the bell rang

to groceries on the step and there was Dan driving

away, like his grandmother did so many years ago.



J. K. Durick is a retired writing teacher and online writing tutor. His recent poems have appeared in Literary Yard, Vox Poetica, Synchronized ChaosMadswirl, Pendemic, and Eskimo Pie.