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Measure Three

Oh, what foul mouthed middle schoolers these boys usually
Kindness are, but today I caught the neighbor’s children reciting count-

ing games to decide who goes first. I heard the old-fashioned
in Five Measure One gibber gabber counting rhymes. Generally, these boys are
infected with too much tween testosterone, so the bits and

Measures It would have been the early ’70’s, I was a girl, maybe 9 or pieces of innocence still hanging around their orbits remind
me these kids with their endless jockeying for dominance will
10 years old. Spring was beginning and even in upstate New
eventually emerge as men. My wish for them is that their
York the weather was slowly getting warmer. For me, the
Plus 1 transition from winter clothes to lighter, cooler apparel was circumstances allow for whatever turns they must take can be
decided by kindness and a rhyme.
tough. I did not like to wear short sleeves. While she saw
me off to bed, I confided to my grandmother that I liked to Measure Five
only wear long sleeved shirts to cover my arms, because I I first wrote this in In the late 1950’s, my grandparents bought an
By Diane Puterbaugh was embarrassed by the many moles dotting my forearms. May 2018 from a
WordPress prompt old farmhouse with some land to spend the
“Oh, no. Those aren’t of laughter. The summers during retirement. My mother cross
moles,” she said. “They neighborhood boys stitched two pieces that hung in the kitchen at
are beauty marks, so still play basketball, the farm for nearly forty years. They hang in my
you must be one of the but the net has been kitchen now, and were the inspiration for this
most beautiful girls at raised higher while villanelle:
school.” they grow taller and
their voices deeper. In the house of kindness
I still carry the inno- The doormat says Welcome and really means it
cence and tenderness of this Would you like a cup of coffee?
exchange with me.
Measure Four No matter the dark clouds or stormy night
And I wear short sleeved shirts. I picked every one of them. The sweet scent of spring The lights are always on
so perfectly in a line along Mrs. Baldwin’s front side- In the house of kindness
Measure Two walk. With preschooler pride I presented the cache to
my mother. Except, no. My mother marched me across In the dining room
I once worked with a young woman, a UT Martin student, the street. Mrs. Baldwin opened her door and saw me There is always a chair at the table
Waiting for you
who, when asked what she would like for Christmas an- holding every one of her Easter-colored hyacinths. Still
swered, “Erasers.” shocked by my mother’s rebuke and the forced pil- Our kitchen is a warm and pleasant spot
grimage across the street to Mrs. Baldwin’s front door,
Diane Puterbaugh lives in I mumbled an apology. Mrs. Baldwin was gracious and Where friends gather to chat and laugh a lot
Jackson, TN where she is a “Erasers?” I repeated back in a did-I-hear-you-right way. patient. In the house of kindness
wife, mother, sister, neigh- “Oh, yes. Because I make a LOT of mistakes,” she declared.
bor, runner, gardener, bird Then, confident and smiling, she left to begin her shift. A deal was struck between the two women. The pil- In the living room, the back of each chair has an
afghan
watcher, poet and member fered bouquet was split in half. I considered this a To wrap around your shoulders or drape over
of Jackson Writer's Club. She did receive erasers for Christ- victory, the price of which was listening to my mother your lap
say never do that again. No matter where, walking the
Her work has appeared in mas, but that is not the point. neighborhood or a The cat or dog may find this comfy, too.
Visitant Lit, Poetry Super We should be kind enough to Kroger floral depart-
ourselves to freely ask for erasers,
Highway. The Poetorium and because we could so openly admit ment, if I come upon The sheets are clean, and the pillows fluffed
Peeking Cat Literary. “I make a LOT of mistakes.” a hyacinth and that Please spend the night
unmistakable scent, In the house of kindness
I remember Mrs. Would you like a cup of coffee?
Baldwin’s kindness.
Continued Next Page

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