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Job Duties
by Lisa Marie BrodskyI choose to walk into the fog
every working day.
Mama Theresa in the pink, printed skirts
clutches a doll with only half her hair.
I smile at her and she smiles back,
toothless, and in her Italian accent,
delightfully says, I have-a no teeth!
These men and women wander through dark rooms.
We reach out for hands
and we take hands.
These hands are dark; the dark embraces
the dark. We all nod our dark heads.
When Susana hears her door open,
she thinks her mother is coming
in to wake her up and so all through
breakfast, medication time, lunch,
she struggled to get out of her
wheelchair: I must get to Mother.
We pull her shoulders back
so she sits.
We feel the resistance
of a newly-charged woman
recognizing one of her own.
03/04/2006 Posted on 03/05/2006
Copyright © 2024 Lisa Marie Brodsky
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Jim Benz on 04/09/06 at 02:51 AM these just keep getting better. again, the best of this series, in my opinion, are the one's with a particularly strong finish. but all of them, universally, are packed with well-drawn details and powerful content. I only wish you were drawing on imagination rather than true life. this is all so heartwrenchingly true. |
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