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Amana Memories 
	
		
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			She reads in midnight whispers 
			to my now calmed infant sister  
			mesmerized by mother’s voice. 
			 
			Seated in the kitchen, silhouetted 
			in the glow of an open oven door 
			reflected in her face, she scoots  
			 
			over slightly, invites me to hop up, 
			huddle in closest to the heat. I  
			listen to her story accompanied by  
			 
			milk bubbled gulps, rubber nipple  
			noises, sissy’s slowing grunts and  
			sighs as tired tiny eyes fall asleep.  
			 
			Mom tilts the book for me to look, 
			follow her finger under lines of 
			words I am far too young to read. 
			 
			From picture-less pages characters  
			emerge, each given unique speech,  
			scenes seen in a two year old mind.  
			 
			With magical skill mom interprets 
			printed words to adventure worlds  
			beyond my world safe by her side. 
			 
			I begin to imagine how someday  
			I’ll read books myself from library  
			shelves, recite by rote written notes,  
			 
			translate letters to sounds to words, 
			skilfully decipher black and white, 
			and amaze audiences awed at my art  
			 
			of perfectly pronouncing six syllable  
			words, barely heard, as crowds cheer, 
			rise to their feet and call out my name.  
			 
			I awaken to the morning light never  
			remembering how I got to my bed  
			or when her story became my dream. 
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Reviews
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Sharmagne Leland-St. John   
United States 
"Carl, You have poetry in your soul…Thank you for 
sharing." 
  
Kathy   United States 
"Carl writes such wonderful poems. They are 
primarily very personal and you can always relate." 
  
Ann   United States 
"Wonderful I see you as the boy and me as 
the Babygirl" 
  
Carole Sauter   United 
States 
"So happy to see this finalized and in "print" 
Carl. Hope you feel like coming to poetry critique soon. Love, Carole" 
  
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