Philip Kobylarz, Rictus, Photograph
Sandal
You were crying in the lobby of Carolina Pines,
nurse to my friend close to the end. You said,
First anniversary of my mother’s death, asked
for a hug. I timed my visits by your shift.
I had to be careful not to hold you too long,
like the sun-soaked Yoshino cherry trunk
I clasped at the park, when no one was around.
I took your voice to my muttering friend.
It settled over us like peace from a hymn.
You gave and gave again. But mercy parches
the deepest wells. How did you survive the gurneys
wheeling out patients in undertaker’s bags?
Did you sway in the Powerhouse Gospel Choir
or slay pins and men at Rainbow Lanes?
In my fancy, you fold Sunday laundry,
dreading Monday, husband in den, garbed
in his game jersey, cheering the Panthers
from his recliner. You pop in, nip a nacho,
sip his beer. He ignores the sandal you dangle.
I tip him into the game.
_________________
Michael Gaspeny
Review by Jared Pearce
The characters in Gaspeny’s poem are fun to watch, but the nurse in the middle of this poem is nicely developed: a hugger, a talker, a care-giver, a wife, a nibbler. The snapshot gives us enough to consider how she lives and, by doing so, how we live, how we might live, and even what we don’t want.