Three Poems by E. Laura Golberg

“The Terrible Man on the Plane”

My mother on the phone, complaining,
voice thick with cold, nasal passages thick,
resonating. “I should be in Hawaii,” she said.
“But I’m too ill. Flying back from Indiana,
last week, I sat next to this terrible man
on the plane who coughed and sneezed
all over me. He should not have been flying.
Now he’s ruined my holiday.”

I hung up, went to York Florist, ordered
a summer bouquet, signed it:
“Feel better soon, with many apologies,
The Terrible Man on the Plane.”

Two hours later, the phone rings.
She sounds like a young girl being courted,
coy, voice light and airy.
“I got flowers.” she said. “I looked at the note
and thought ‘How did he know?’”

*

Why I Didn’t Talk in the On-Line Class

The poetry class, sixteen of us,
was unusually silent–long pauses
where the teacher would ask
a question and no-one would answer.

I, myself, didn’t talk because out of one
of the little windows, peered the marriage
counselor I fired while my husband
and I were having terrible troubles.

That was ten years’ ago this summer.
We’d met with four different shrinks,
either he liked one or I did, but
we couldn’t agree. So, we stopped

looking. Now, still married and happy,
I was silent in class. I wonder
how many of the silent others
were former clients, too.

*

Stroke

Two different meanings, one: loving
caress over skin or fur; the other:

a blood clot somewhere in the brain.
Mine is in my occipital lobe. No soft

cuddle for me, just a harsh blind spot.
I thought I’d get used to it but three

weeks later, it’s just getting me down.
I tell myself ‘Getting used to it.’ will

take months, if not several years.
In my mind, I gently stroke my eyes.

*

E. Laura Golberg is a poet, originally from England, who has lived in Washington DC for over 50 years. Her work has appeared in Rattle, Poet Lore, Barrow Street, Birmingham Poetry Review, Spillway, RHINO, and the Journal of Humanistic Mathematics, among other places.