SONGS CAPTIVATE THE TRAVELER (from THE SAUNA IS FULL OF MAIDS)

Could it be a sha-man, or a sha-woman blows through this

wind and water?  Joik; poetry; exoneration. Songs captivate

the traveler. Human-animal-stone-tree. Rituals, rivalries.

We tried to find my spirit guide in her Brooklyn apartment. Is

Is it a turtle, a rabbit, a magpie? We don’t know.

The Hebrew word for soul, nephesh denotes all animal life.

Poems begin and end as songs. How can the cuckoo bless a forest

if only one tree is left unfelled?

I dwell in the Northland for inspired intervals. Lapland. Ostrobothnia.

Helsinki. Troms-Finnmark. Tampere.

I apologize for my Americanness. The sound of my voice,

Voice of my sounds    interferes with sky shapes.

Impatient with what separates us. Meet me again soon..

Silence.  River I miss your shadows.

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Another poem, “Gulf of Finland,” from THE SAUNA IS FULL OF MAIDS

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Article about Cheryl J. Fish in Tribeca Citizen: “Poetry about 9/11 that reverberates today” (May 19, 2020) Includes a poem from Crater and Tower.

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“I Never Had a Daughter,” from Mom Egg Review.

I NEVER HAD A DAUGHTER

I never had a daughter
who play-acted feelings she could not articulate,
a busted doll in hand.
Who wrote poems and      scored goals.
Who asked, “mother, who was your first love?
Who was your third?”

I never had a daughter who
flipped     tangled hair
outside    texting among six friends
Spooning ice cream into their firm, fool mouths.
One friend spoke too frankly              so my girl cried.
Then she blindsided
My every try               every tale of recounting
mother’s     old ordeals.

I never had a daughter
of charm or dismay.
Rebellious       clingy
After snapping and snarling
she’d hug me round the knees.

To have raised       a child on one’s own
a fever pitch of
errors and trials begun at age 40.
So my only son,          he never had

A sister.

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U N D U L A T I O N           
(excerpt of poem that appeared in Talisman)                   

So many boats cruise by

          awakening criss-crosses

          in Jersey's pierced

hourglass

          this is the Rhine, or

up the Seine, it's about proper

width and color, almost palpable.

          Radiant sun

releases apologies, a million

little frogs...

It's your move.

 Come at me straight.

Anywhere isn't elsewhere

the sun sinks earlier

and earlier

September a reminder

of purpose--

the writing in the book.

This is the Hudson:

          strange glistening body

out my window...

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OFF SIDE         
(Appeared in Gyroscope Review 16.4, 2016, p. 39) – http://joom.ag/162Q

Prepared for rain, we arrive early wearing ponchos

Search for soccer field number two, Red Hook, Brooklyn

In striking distance of Ikea’s flagship

Stockholm-on-the-Gowanus

Blackened factories, ships’ containers

Trucks fire up tacos, serve plantains and guava drinks

Our team gets called off-sides

Again and again, a whistle, a hand, nothing counts

A foot might wedge or pivot in air

And end up east or west, anywhere

They don’t stand a chance against the bulky Latino strikers

elbows gnash their bony-boy physiques

in fancy uniforms, shiny red-and-yellow cleats

Our coach’s panicky indignation fails to ignite passion

The ball arrives first

The others barrel it into our net when we miss

Their siblings’ mock-kick on the sidelines, a dog runs on the field.

Losing takes grace.

I head to the truck for a shake

Amid whistles, bewilderment   

One boy boots a crushed Pepsi can

Into the blinding sun.