I Want to Write a Poem
I will not let this poem reveal
the long scar, still red and raised
on my husband’s chest, surrounded
by graying curls, nor
his ropy arms blooming with blood.
I want to write a poem about him running
ahead of me on the beach, the green kite
we bought at Woolworths bobbing in the cloudless sky, and me
chasing after him, laughing,
a poem that notes his size
fourteen footprints in the sand,
and shows him spinning to face me, running
backward lithely, all 6’3” of him,
like a winged god.
I will not let this poem
reveal his trembling right hand nor
the lid-droop of his left eye
that causes him to miss spots
while shaving, nor smell the sourness
of medication in his sweat, nor hear the chirp
and buzz of his hearing aids that rarely work.
I want to write a poem about him
holding our newborn daughter in the palm
of his hand, and pacing with our colicky son,
patting his back, my son’s face rising
above my husband’s shoulder like a pocket mirror of him.
I will not let this poem reveal
my husband leaning as he walks
as if he’s a pine tree in a forest reaching
toward light, nor the whisper of his Velcro-closing slippers
on the vined carpet, nor allow this poem
to show him opening the door in the middle
of the night to accept a delivery from Amazon,
his hands holding only air.
• • •
Rochelle Jewel Shapiro is the author of Miriam the Medium (Simon & Schuster). Her essays have appeared in NYT (Lives), Newsweek, and more. Her short stories have been published in such magazines as Entropy and The MacGuffin. Two of her poems have been nominated for Pushcart and Best of the Net Awards. Currently, she teaches writing at UCLA Extension.