• Gary Hunter

Wintergreen - May 16, 2021

In her room she would stroll to the night table

a bent twig drifting through a minted forest

the old bark of her skin lotioned to smell like

spring in winter scenting a green-faded dress

and wrinkled handkerchief in constant clutch

she’d open the drawer and dozens of round

candies would roll forward and bang on the

front of it when she stopped


My great grandmother Ganny from the horse days

the old slow ways would hold one like a pearl

in two fingers and slip a squeeze to its edge

and pop it through the plastic into my hand

then I into my mouth


She’s a ghost now a bent one drifting through

a minted forest whenever my tongue captures one

of those ice-blue and white candies


wintergreen




0 views

Recent Posts

See All

I know something about some things very little of many things and reserve my greatest ignorance for understanding love, myself and human motivation How’s that for shingles of flimsy wisdom on a house

Amber’s death triggered 14 days of torment her presence still felt on the sofa the bed at the door when I came home presenting her brown head and a swinging tail the disconnect to the physical a slaug

we have mountains so gentle they caress water from the eyes others that blow up and spew death to those drawn to that charm rains that can mist leaves gloriously shiny or rip trees out by the roots an