‘Twinings’ Offers Memories and Calm

First, her poems are elegant but simple, not overly esoteric. Even a casual reader, one who may prefer straightforward prose, can lift meaning from her lilting verse. Her style is soft, like a lullaby for adults.

Next, readers who share with Fritz the experience of decades can find themselves carried back to youth – and into adulthood and old age – through her gentle reminiscences, light humor, and hints of hard times.

The book’s first grouping of poems, “Memories,” begins with “Lunch Bell”:

Mother made me
go outside every morning
if it was above forty-five,
and not come back
until the lunch bell.
I would sit on the terrace
and decide the direction
of the day: south …

She moves to the second grouping, “Moments,” where her poetic visits with nature show her appreciation for flora and fauna. The natural experiences entwine with insights. As in “The Shedding”:

Under the honeysuckle
on sharp curled leaves
I rub back and forth
to slough the skin
that once fit smoothly …

Once I had gold flecks
and was desired
in inappropriate ways.
Now bones poke, breasts sag,
and I only hope
new scales
hurry to hide
my gathering
weakness.

But no, winter comes,
a shortness of breath, …
and I’m beginning to think
no new skin is going
to bring back summer
or honeysuckle.

In the book’s third grouping of poems, “Musings,” Fritz shares “the wisdom age gifts us.” In an era where ageism and the worship of youth are the norm, the reminder of the benfits of experience provides comfort.

In a final gift from the book, the simplicity of Fritz’s works can remind a reader that we can all benefit from writing our own poetry. Few of us will create poems worthy of publication, as Fritz’s are, but hers can serve as a template, an inspiration. The act of finding our own voices, pulling up our own memories, can bring joy and, when needed, healing.

As the title poem, “Twinings,” says,

Sometimes just that
little wisp of honeysuckle,
loaded with nectar,
shooting out the scent of memory
while reaching to twine
with a sister vine,
is the only joy
we are going to get this day.

But we are going to get that.

A copy of Julie Fritz’s “Twinings” offers just such a joy.