Skip to content →

Category: Family

POEM: remembering their names

Published 20 September 2017 by Jason Crane

remembering their names

it used to seem so important
all the names
what they thought
a heart, a thumb, a smile

now I see them in the store
like ghosts, like shadows
mostly they don’t notice me
which is good because

I can’t remember their names
how I know them
where we met
why it all mattered so much

the ship is a boat
smaller, perhaps more prone
to waves and wind
but containing only

what’s necessary for a good life
a few people who know
two whose names I gave
one who knows best

///

Jason Crane
20 September 2017
State College PA

Leave a Comment

POEM: invasive species

Published 11 April 2017 by Jason Crane

invasive species

we planted it at the foot of some low hills
near a made-up border between two states
soon we moved it across that line
took it north, then west, then back east again
we tried to give it roots in new soil
but by that point, the damage was done
it hadn’t learned to reach deep into the earth
never figured out how to flourish in one place
like a Hollywood tumbleweed it rolled off-screen
passing by in the background of other people’s scenes
sometimes coming to rest, but not for long
for years we lost track of it, saw and heard nothing
until finally it came to rest in a valley
far from water, far from the home we’d tried to make
rocking back and forth in a wind only it could feel
but staying put, at least for the moment

/ / /

Jason Crane
11 April 2017
State College PA

One Comment

Why Kids Should Study Music

Published 16 September 2015 by Jason Crane

sax Tonight I went to my fourth-grader’s instrumental music orientation meeting. It was very professionally run and contained everything we needed to know to get started. And it was only as long as it needed to be, which was great. One thing I noticed, though, was that nobody talked about the reason kids should learn to play music.

Don’t get me wrong, they definitely talked about the ways music can help kids in other areas of their lives. Things like problem solving and practice habits and stress relief. I completely understand that in this day and age, when more and more school districts are cutting back on the arts, music and art teachers have to justify their existence and this is how they do it. Kudos to them, and I’m not at all suggesting they stop talking about practical reasons to study music.

But it would have been wonderful to also hear a few sentences like this:

“Your child should study music because nothing in the world is like it. It opens up the mind and heart to new ways of looking at the world, and to an ability to think and feel and experience more deeply. Music is a universal language in a way few others things can ever be. If you know how to play an instrument, you’ll be part of a global community of people who realize that beauty is as essential to life as breathing. Your child should learn to play an instrument precisely because it doesn’t immediately have a practical value. It’s a quixotic campaign against the idea that everything they do has to prepare them for life as a worker and consumer. Making music is a revolutionary act. Learning to play and appreciate music is part of what it means to be human.”

5 Comments

POEM: do this in remembrance of me

Published 11 May 2015 by Jason Crane

gandg

do this in remembrance of me

I don’t remember how they died
though it hasn’t been that long
maybe it was their hearts
or just being old
honestly I don’t even remember
how long it’s been
five years for one, eight for the other
I don’t know
we never had a proper funeral for either
which struck me as a mistake
one should always stop to remember the dead
nor are there markers on a patch of grass
or a plaque on a bench in Lenox
no, for now their ashes sit on a shelf
in two urns, side by side (I assume)
in a little town to which they had no connection
to which I have (almost) no connection either
so on this day, or any other
when I feel I’d like to sit under a tree
near a headstone, or on a bench
in the town they most liked to call home
the most I can do is put pen to paper
search my chest for the two little holes they left
and hope that’s enough to remember them by

Jason Crane
10 May 2015
Oak Street

Leave a Comment

POEM: theft

Published 16 April 2015 by Jason Crane

theft

theft

give me all your money, he says
thumb and index finger making a gun
the boy pretends to take out his wallet
opens it, passes invisible currency

they’ve performed this act
hundreds of times now
the father always the robber, the boy
or his brother always the victims

an incautious observer might see metaphor
where there is only play-acting
might suggest this imagined theft mirrors
what the father has already stolen

back on the couch the boy giggles
goes back to his YouTube videos
safe in the knowledge that the thief
is nearby, waiting to spring again

/ / /

Jason Crane
16 April 2015
State College, PA

Leave a Comment

POEM: Valentine’s Day

Published 14 February 2015 by Jason Crane

joshwhite

Valentine’s Day

the shades are down though
the day is overcast
Josh White is singing
“House Of The Rising Sun”
warm vinyl suffusing the air
with honey-scented blues
one boy is on the couch
napping cat above him
the other at the computer
napping cat at his feet

this is a moment
to capture in amber
so its DNA can be extracted
years later when these boys
have boys of their own
in some far-off town
& I’m listening to Josh White
with two different cats
& my memories
to keep me company

/ / /

Jason Crane
14 February 2015
Oak Street

Bonus: Here’s Josh White singing “House Of The Rising Sun”

2 Comments

POEM: Christmas Eve, 2013

Published 25 December 2013 by Jason Crane

379704_246824082144322_1314856598_n

Christmas Eve, 2013

I’m sitting in my apartment, one lamp on,
watching old episodes of Doctor Who, from
the first year they made it in color. There’s
nobody here but me, because the boys are
at their grandmother’s house, and I’m not
allowed past the front door. And not even
that far, if she has her druthers. They’ll be
here soon, though, to take me to their house,
where we’ll play some games and wait
for the arrival of Santa Claus, in whom one
believes and one doesn’t. If you’d told me ten,
or even five, years ago that this year I’d be
cut off from my entire family (except for my
sister) and living alone in my least favorite place
on Earth, I’d have hoped you weren’t clairvoyant.
And although I’m much better at staying
in the moment than I used to be, there are some
moments you hope pass quickly. Still,
later tonight I’ll get to tuck my sons in,
pet their dog, lay my head down on a real bed.
And in the morning they’ll open their gifts,
we’ll laugh and we’ll hug. That’s what I’m waiting for,
as the clock ticks away the minutes on Christmas Eve.

24 December 2013
Oak Street

Leave a Comment

POEM: American Fool

Published 21 December 2013 by Jason Crane

JC_American_Fool

American Fool

It was the summer that John Cougar’s “Hurts So Good”
owned the airwaves. I remember it was playing
in Todd’s room when I got there. Plymouth, Massachusetts.
Our family’s last stand in our home state before
the final dissolution. Before we spread across the country
like dandelion seeds scattered by a strong wind.

It was also the summer of the Kinks’ “Lola,” introduced
to me by a Doctor Demento parody called “Yoda.”
“Y-O-D-A Yo-Da.” All three of those songs are bound up
in my memory like the sight of the sword Todd laid
on his bed, a gift from the grandfather we didn’t share.
The one who’d been an officer in the Knights of Columbus.

It was the last summer of trips to see Plymouth Rock
or the replica of the Mayflower. (“April showers bring
May flowers. What do May flowers bring? Pilgrims!”)
After that, seeing Todd meant a trip to Wisconsin.
It wasn’t the same. Even later when I moved to Arizona
where he lived, things had changed. Too much time.

It was the summer I came home from my grandparents’ place
round as a beach ball from all the Ring Dings I’d eaten,
sitting in front of the little TV in their den watching Star Blazers.
My parents made me run a mile a night until I was less round.
One of many clues I didn’t notice until three decades later.
By then the bullet had hit and passed through, leaving a scar.

21 December 2013
Oak Street

Leave a Comment

POEM: falling through the floor

Published 20 November 2013 by Jason Crane

falling through the floor

she was on the second floor
of the old country barn when

the worn wooden slats cracked
under her diminutive frame

undermined not by weight
but by unstoppable time

as her body slipped down
into the expanding hole

her grandfather leapt for her
razor-sharp mind outwitted

by his 70-year-old frame
he grabbed for her arms

but she’d already vanished
as if she’d never existed

his fingers clutched the air
she’d recently passed through

air that was now filled with
the sound of crying from below

where she was sprawled, unhurt
on a pile of new hay

20 November 2013
Oak Street

Leave a Comment

POEM: my first night in Japan

Published 19 November 2013 by Jason Crane

miso_soup

my first night in Japan
(for the Inoue family)

I slept for twenty-four hours
at least that’s how I
remember it happening

then we had miso soup with
tiny clams in the bottom
of each wooden bowl

we were seated around
a dining room table
on regular chairs

all things I’d been told
not to expect to find
10,000 miles from home

it was my host mom, brother
two sisters and me;
obaasan ate in her own room

we brought her a tray, some
for her, some for the shrine
to her late husband

it was when we put our hands
together to remember him
that I fell in love with Japan

19 November 2013
Oak Street

2 Comments

POEM: Bernie turns 11

Published 4 November 2013 by Jason Crane

bernie

Bernie turns 11

the cold is a shock
as we step outside
I put one arm around him
kiss his cheek
remembering
when I could hold
his entire body
with that same arm

3 November 2013
Oak Street

Leave a Comment