The call is gentle at first, then
a firm drum beat.

Thunder broadcasts the end
of each couple in town.

Children ask
“is it true of yours, too?”

Oh, they knew. Before you,
they knew.

Before your martinis, before your wandering eyes.

They knew when they came out of the warm, cooked plasma
of their mothers

that there would be this separation,
this Siamese death. They peel themselves
from their parents’ sides once they hear
of the upcoming abandonment.

Listen to their strange dreams
of lawyers with Raggedy Ann hair, courtrooms where
people hit each other with ice cream cones, the dream
of roller skaters passing without a glance.

Then do not be afraid to tell them of the gulf

that exists between you – man,

and you – woman

For I will sing the solo, I will raise their flag.

I will help them out of the hole where they have been
planning for this splintered day all along.

08/22/2004

Author's Note: This poem is one of my first "break-out" poems, meaning one of the first poems I wrote that wasn't directly involved with me or my psyche.

Posted on 08/22/2004
Copyright © 2024 Lisa Marie Brodsky