An Oboe for Me and Grandpa by Jeri Frederickson
An Oboe for Me and Grandpa
Jeri FredericksonThe oboe solo on the tv slows his shouting to a purr,
his feet tapping its rhythm as the sores break open.
Still his smile lingers as he says no. Always a smile
when he says no. Mom would make us chant
no begging no whining no fussing no crying. And then we
became the no. Couldn’t he hold the glue and finish
our model planes? One at a time, his lungs say no.
Filling thick and slow, to be drained like his martinis,
no and a smile with an oboe. The joints
of my plane could grow wings if he nurtured
soft wood and small things. This flight deck
is a place I want to know, if only if only
if only that oboe would play again.
If only I could know and know and know.
.
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SHARED WITH GRATITUDE
This poem appeared in Variant Literature, Issue 8, 2021.
ABOUT JERI FREDERICKSON
Jeri Frederickson calls Chicago home with her two cats and many plants. She swims in literary, visual, and performing arts as an expression of survival and a channel to nurture love and access beauty while questioning the experiences that hold people together. She graduated from Antioch University Los Angeles with an MFA in Writing. Her chapbook You Are Not Lost is forthcoming in October 2021 from Finishing Line Press. (Source)
Read more poems by Jeri Frederickson • Find books by this poet on Amazon • Bookshop • Follow on Instagram • Or view my library
ENDNOTES
- This is Day 31 of The Sealey Challenge 2026—a community challenge to read one book of poetry a day for the month of August, named after Nicole Sealey.
- Explore other works in pursuit of: illness • family • longing • Or browse the index
- If this work resonates with you, please consider supporting the archive. Thank you for reading.
