Poetry by Carol Parris Krauss

             Jason Tessier CC




If It’s Not Broken

I have taken her items that are chipped, torn, water-stained. I did not
take the gold earrings, but instead the cracked mirror. The one Granny used
when she would brush, twist, and secure her auburn hair with a tortoise comb. 
I want the broken necklaces, always the chipped china. The silver letter holder
that sat on the edge of her splintered desk.  Patina tipped, dented. I can slide
my memories neatly in the slots,  like how Granny would turn her head 
toward her shoulder and tilt the mirror just so. To inspect her fixed hair, 
right before smoothing the snag on her skirt, she called me to her lap
for an hour of flawless story time. Our perfect ritual. 





Saturday Chores on Greenbrier Road

My mother will tell you. And my grandmother, too. To clean
hardwood floors properly, you must get down on your hands 
and knees and talk to them. You must counsel the gouge
in the living room, you need to comfort the water stain
by the back door. Gently coax and whisper out the flour, sugar,
and holiday crumbs near the bottom edges of the oven.
You need to soap, scrub, and oil these 82 year old planks.
Each slab of timber will listen to you. Each tongue, groove, 
and peg will hear your psalm of work on this cool winter morning. 
It will take hours to complete this ritual and you will feel
the aches in your hips, knees, and wrists tomorrow. 
Your body will talk to you. The language of your
hardwood floors.

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Carol Parris Krauss is a mother, teacher, and poet from the Tidewater region of Virginia. She was honored to be selected as a 2018 Best New Poet by the University of Virginia Press. Her recent work can be found in Black Bough(where she recently served a stint as a guest host for Top Tweet Tuesday, Mixed Mag, Twist in Time, and Pine Mountain Sand & Gravel. She will begin reading for Full House Literary Magazine in April of 2021. Her website is https://www.carolparriskrausspoet.com/

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