Rose Bingham

CONTACT:
Email: rosebingham@ymail.com
Website: https://rosebingham.com/
Twitter@RosebinghamE
Facebook@rosesteinmetzbingham

BIO:
Rose Bingham is a retired registered nurse. She graduated from St. Francis School of Nursing in LaCrosse, Wisconsin in 1958, and received her BSN from the University of Wisconsin in Madison in 1996. She enjoys writing poetry and has been recognized for such at the annual Writer’s Conference in Madison, Wisconsin in 2013, 2014, and 2015, with one of the poems published in the Midwest Review 4, a literary and arts magazine published by the University of Wisconsin-Madison Division of Continuing Studies. Her memoir, Buy The Little Ones A Dolly, was published in December 2017 and Say It Isn’t So And Then Make Lemonade in July 2019 by HenschelHaus Publishing. Rose is proud of her status as mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother.  Rose resides in Reedsburg, Wisconsin with her husband, Mike.

PUBLICATIONS:
Life Through My Eyes, A Collection of Poetry and Prose (2023).
Say It Isn’t So And Then Make Lemonade (2019), HenschelHaus Publishing.
Buy the little Ones A Dolly (2017), HenschelHaus Publishing.

Poetry

Reflections of War

I am a quiet observer in a veteran’s clinic.
I see men and women proudly wearing
caps, t-shirts, and leather jackets,
decorated with service-related patches
that announce, “I’m a vet.”

Crew cuts, ponytails, long beards
define age and wars:
Korean, Vietnam, Desert Storm,
Iraq and Afghanistan, and maybe World War II.

Strong, healthy men and women
now with built-up shoes and prosthetics.
Some depending on others
to get from here to there.

I hear the hum of an electric wheelchair.
I hear the rhythmic cadence of cane tips striking the floor.
I hear resonant sounds coming from an artificial voice box.

I see a man with a scarred face with enough lip left
to make a one-sided smile.
I see a tall thin man walking at a snail’s pace,
yet I feel his determination.

I see a distinguished looking gentleman
wearing a dapper hat, and a suit tailored
to accommodate his amputated left leg.

I see a face with a blank stare.
Is he remembering,
or trying to forget?

I see vets greeting each other
with handshakes and warm hugs,
often sharing war stories.

I feel remorse for veteran’s physical and emotional loss.
I feel appreciation for veteran’s sacrifice.
I feel ambivalent toward war.

Lessons Learned in the Garden

Kneeling down in my garden
I realize I am not alone
There is a caterpillar on a mission.
I watch.

In undulating movements
He makes his way up a plant stem,
Inch by inch, by inch.
I watch.

Crawling onto just the right leaf,
He waits, waits for his weight to 
Slowly lower him to a neighboring plant.
I watch.

He journeys down the stem,
His tiny feet like marching soldiers,
Raising his head up so far
He is almost erect, looking, looking.
I watch.

A wide blade of grass protruding
Into the plant seems to beckon him.
Stretching, stretching, almost
Dangling in space, he reaches it.

I am in awe. 
I glance at my watch.  An hour has passed.
I am still on my knees, garden trowel in hand.
Patience, determination, perseverance,
Lessons learned in the garden.

(I am a breast cancer survivor. Gardening was therapy.)