Death Will Get You Sober, Liz's first mystery, in bookstores now.
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Death Will Get You Sober, Liz's first mystery, in bookstores now. |
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OUTINGthen there was the day I took them to the zooriding the subway up to the Bronx fat Bobby with his single earring James who used to keep his pee in bottles and never took a bath until this year Lewis in an assortment of striped vests and sweaters (he had a tendency to take them off though, thank God, not that day) we looked as normal as anyone in the car watch caps stuffed down to the eyebrows knitted scarves wrapped tight against the whipping wind of spring it must have felt good to be outside the bars staring at the unselfconscious bears (they knew they could bite you to death in a minute if you came too close and one of the polar bears did though not that spring) the gorilla eating a banana with sad dignity the tiger pacing with measured tread, slowly back and forth along the rim of its ditch three of the paranoid schizophrenics took a ride on the aerial tram, but I was too scared of heights to go along they snapped my picture smiling against a bush of lemony forsythia with a giraffe behind me stretching its long neck toward the freedom of the April sky that was the best time I had with them until the day I left, when they had kept the secret of their plans so well I didn't guess even when Rick who heard voices got mad at me and started muttering to his hallucinations that they weren't even giving me a party with nothing to do but mope at my empty desk I finally wandered into the dayroom there they all were yelling Surprise! and presenting me with a rose-colored T-shirt that said We're all crazy about you! This poem first appeared in Home Planet News and is included in Elizabeth Zelvin's book Gifts and Secrets: Poems of the Therapeutic Relationship (New Rivers 1999). |
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I AM THE DAUGHTERI am the daughter of the son of the daughterof a woman whose name no one remembers though all the oldest still alive and sane were there last time I asked I am the daughter of the son of the son of a woman whose name no one remembers not even her grandchildren with whom she lived for years I am the daughter of the daughter of the daughter of a woman whose name I did not know until past my thirtieth year when I found she was Elisabeth for whom I was named I am the daughter of the daughter of the son of a woman whose name was Sarah the family tree runs off the page at this point so I can feel proud my matrilineage is secure forgetting that Sarah was the daughter of a woman whose name no one remembers This poem appeared in Elizabeth Zelvin's book I Am The Daughter (New Rivers 1981). |
THE ICE STORMwhile sixty cars were slewing wildly on the Long Island Expresswayspinning on slick obsidian spitting shards like splintered chandeliers my mother was embarking on her final journey lying on her bed as lightly as if she floated in some turquoise pool or in the jade Atlantic that she loved so well as if she knew the ice and winds were coming and had her ticket tucked away for just this moment lying as if basking on a chaise longue sailing through chuckling seas in the embracing sun still indomitable, still a voyager skeptical of spirit but ready, always, for new marvels how astounded she must be, but on consideration how curious, even eager, to find behind the last door not the darkness she expected but the beckoning tunnel of light This poem appeared in Elizabeth Zelvin's book Gifts and Secrets: Poems of the Therapeutic Relationship (New Rivers 1999). |
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Page contents ©2001,2005, 2007Elizabeth Zelvin. Revised page design ©2005, 2007 Elizabeth Zelvin and COIN Services. Webmaster: COIN Services. Original page design ©2001 Paradiso Interactive. Flower images adapted from and used by permission of JacquieLawson.com. All line drawings ©2001, 2005 Elizabeth Zelvin |
