Lynne
I remember your flinch
when your father
came home, his face red,
clinking a brown bag.
Who knew what laid ahead
was empties tumbling
from your locker, your
glazed eyes. I remember
the record we danced to,
it hit gold, Dizzy, 1969
by Tommy Roe. I know
all the lyrics. I can’t forget
how I shunned you in town
those times you waved,
your hand that shook,
shy half-smile,
how I pushed my cart
at the market, glided by,
as you sliced deli meats
to the tracks of Muzak.
*
Missing Fathers
They visit while you sleep, pulling sheets to chins, brushing cheeks
with whiskers even if you didn’t see them much before they left.
They look over your school work and correct a math problem or two.
They tint the walls a shade darker and rearrange the furniture
so you know they were there.
Mothers get up first to fix the furniture back the way they like,
but they don’t say anything.
The Cherrios box might feel lighter if they needed a snack.
They are so considerate when they leave at night, closing the door
with the quietest sound, like the click that lives in my jaw now.
*
Dorian Kotsiopoulos’ work has appeared in various literary and medical journals, including Poet Lore, Salamander, New England Journal of Medicine, JAMA, On the Seawall, Rogue Agent, Smartish Pace, Thimble Literary Magazine, Third Wednesday, and The Westchester Review as well as in the All Poems Are Ghosts (Tiny Wren Lit) anthology. She is a reviewer for the Bellevue Literary Review.
What fantastic Dorian. Congratulations. (Carla Schwartz)
Thank you so much for reading them, Carla, and for your kind words.
Powerful poems.