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One Year in the River Lethe
by Lisa Marie BrodskyA year can congeal a brain
anaesthetize, get chilblains.
Mama, Im cold.
There goes the ferry of memory
no way of holding on.
Wearisome water separates us.
Mama, Im cold.
This year has been scrambled,
dislocated, found only in a life
I havent led. I am not the woman
I thought Id wax into.
There are envelopes in my mailbox
inviting me to Boston, Baltimore, Bali;
do I unlatch my future while my past
is roped in the basement?
Mama, Im cold.
Its forever Fall, portending a miscarriage
of life, freezing the embryo so it always
burns for mothering.
Mama, Im wintry in this loosened womb; Mama,
Im cold.
02/11/2008 Posted on 02/12/2008
Copyright © 2026 Lisa Marie Brodsky
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