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Sally Jadlow

 

 

Sally Jadlow

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Sally Jadlow is a native Kansan. For the past forty-five years she has made her home in Overland Park. She has written poetry for over thirty years. When not writing poetry, she serves as a chaplain to corporations in the greater Kansas City area and teaches creative writing. 

 

"Sonflower Seeds," authored by Sally was awarded Best Poetry Book 2002 in Oklahoma Writer's Federation, Inc. Her latest book, "The Late Sooner," is a creative non-fiction based on her great grandfather's diary. He participated in the first land run of the Oklahoma Territory in 1889.

 

Her work has appeared in The Mid-America Poetry Review, Cup of Comfort Devotional for Mothers, Vista Magazine, The Best Times, Lawrence Journal World, Mature Years, Kansas City Voices, Lifeline Journal, Women Alive!, Presbyterians Pro-Life News, and The Christian Communicator.

 

Sally is a member of Kansas Authors Club, Missouri Writer's Guild, Oklahoma Writer's Federation, Inc., Ozark Writer's League, Kansas City Writers Group, Tulsa Night Writers, Heart of America Christian Writers, and Christian Writers Fellowship.

 

 

 

 

 


 

169 HIGHWAY KANSAS CITY TO TULSA

 

Two horsemen amble through
a dew-filled pasture
on quarter horses.

 

A thousand hand mirrors
dance on a farm pond
in morning sun.

 

A symphony of birds swoop in tandem
to an unseen choreographer
through the fall breeze.

 

Six rotund hay bales
loaded on a narrow trailer 
appear to be a hairy behemoth
on its way to feed hungry cattle.

 

Fleecy clouds play hide and seek
with the afternoon sunshine
until Nowatta.

 

I rush past rusty oil wells
sucking black syrup from the earth.

 

Crawl past Ooglala-Talala high school
at twenty-five miles an hour.

 

Three jet contrails streak
the pale blue sky.

 

Four-lane highway ribbons
over long rolling hills
toward horizon.

 

Around a curve,
over a rise,
Tulsa
juts from the landscape.

 

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CUTIES IN KEY OVERALLS

 

Tractor swap-meet filled
with hopeful buyers
in Key overalls.

 

One saunters down an aisle
curly shoulder-length flaming hair
held back by blue bandana;
balloon belly fills his bib.

 

In his shadow
a shorter companion tags along;
cuffs rolled,
long beard down his chest.

 

Another, an over-stuffed walrus
side buttons agape,
girth too large for weak knees
rides a battery-powered scooter.

 

They wind through endless aisles
of old tractor parts, tires, and fenders
displayed on flat-bed trailers.

 

Tall shopper
overalls too generous for his thin frame
heads for his truck
big grin under his ball cap bill,
carries a bucket of bolts
and a rusty headlight.

 


PATTERNS

 

Clop.
Her steps sound hollow on the plywood
stretched over bare rafters
beyond the fourth bedroom door.
She squints to adjust eyes to semi-darkness,
reaches for the bulb.
Light illumines the rocking chair
full of old music books.
She removes the stack and sits. The rocker creaks.
She opens the ancient chest,
draws out a child’s cash-register, pushes a key.
The drawer flies open.
She fingers plastic coins, drops them,
one at a time, back into the drawer.
Near the cash register is a pile of letters,
weekly epistles from Great-grandmother to her children.
She unties the stack; the faded purple ribbon
slides to the floor.
She slips the first one out of a yellowed envelope.
Onion paper crackles.
She reads of daily tasks, trolley cars,
family concerns, health problems.
Ties them with a fresh bow;
returns them to their place of rest.
She closes the lid.
Beside the rocking chair are boxes of patterns–
sizes 6 months to 7 years in one, 8 to 14 in another.
Will anyone ever use them again?

 

Originally Published in: Mid-America Poetry Review
 

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A VISIT WITH AUNT KATHERINE

 

She draws the window blinds
behind sheer curtains;
shuts out the bright sunlight.
Her feet shuffle behind me
across the threadbare tapestry rug.
In the darkened room I can barely see
tatted doilies, worked around fine linen
that adorn the faded arms and head-rest  
of the brocade wing-back chair.
A musty smell permeates the room.
Matching lamps, shades still dressed
in cellophane,
stand guard on walnut tables at each end
of the sagging divan.
With shaking hands, she sets a silver service
on the small Windsor table
next to white Haviland tea cups and saucers,
pours.
Passes me a tinkling cup,
“I’m so glad you have come
to brighten my day.”

 

Originally Published in: The Best Times
 

 -----------------------------------------
 
JUNE EVENING


Cows graze 
in gathering dusk
over rolling Kansas fields;
Whippoorwills call the darkness.
Eager children dash about
in search of lightning bugs;
make deposits in glass jars
fully aware of true treasure.

 

All poetry on this page
Copyright
© b
y Sally Jadlow, 2007 

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