Sample Poems by Midge Goldberg
The Fish
ñBut what about the fish?î my daughter asks.
WeÍre reading, for a bedtime story, Noah,
WhoÍs busy with at least a million tasks
Preparing place for sheep, flamingo, boa,
But thereÍs no mention of the fish. I say,
ñThatÍs true; of course, they wouldnÍt care about
A flood„in fact, theyÍd have more room that way,î
But why did God decide to leave them out?
Were they unsullied more than beast or bird?
Forgotten? Was it too hard to make disaster
Really work for everyone? No word
On this. They got no promises or master,
Nothing they did not need, no watery bow.
Untouched by God, the fish stayed safe below.
Flume Ride
Your arms slide around my waist, and we are going,
and I am pressed full length back into you.
We click and rock heavenward only knowing
the outline of the way but not the view,
the feel of every curve, turning and twisting.
Our fingers intertwine, and gravity
falls before us, leaving us resisting
in a well of weightlessness, then we
are dropping, through loops and lesser hills
of rapids run to overspills,
locked and tumbling together, falling
like eagles plummeting, calling,
until the boat slows, and we are there„
your fingers comb the water from my hair.
Town Parade
I sit on the curb and watch them marching, feel
that raw spot open like a just-scraped knee.
The school band wears plain pants and shirts„where are
the uniforms we wore in junior high?
They pass: the crooked lines, the fat flag girls;
drum majors lead the band with empty hands.
Where is the gleaming scepter, coveted
like gold? The whistle, hat, those gloves that slashed
the air, acknowledged„yes, to be acknowledged.
Or sequined bathing suits of majorettes,
custom-made, with boots, tiara, beauty.
YouÍd give up music to be one of those girls.
They were the gods, the queens, our tailored hell.
TheyÍre missing here today„itÍs just as well.
On Air
ñWe had our wedding on the radio.
Yeah, we won this contest where you called in
to answer things about each other„jeez,
I could have killed Mike when he didnÍt know
my high school boyfriendÍs name. They all played hockey
together for Saint MaryÍs„and he forgot!
The questions they asked me were really dumb„
whoÍd he want to be? How the heck should I know?
But it was right after the Super Bowl,
that year the Pats won (what a party„I
got wicked smashed). I figured heÍd say Tom,
uh, whatÍs his name, their quarterback„the cute one.
So, yeah, we won, ïcause I got that one right.
And then the prize was, they paid for the whole
frigginÍ wedding at Casa di Fior,„
that place up Route 1 by the mini-golf,
(itÍs wicked expensive there; I checked it out)„
a honeymoon vacation in Aruba,
and then they put the whole thing on the air
(the wedding, not the honeymoon„oh my God!).
The vows and everything! I think my ma
was kind of sad we didnÍt have a priest.
They brought their own JP (a Catholic one„
he took one look at ma and Aunt Therese
and did a quick Our Father over the cake„
they felt a little better after that).
Those DJ guys, and Lila in the Morning,
they were there. It was an awesome party.
Even Uncle Donny said so, and he
should know, he caters weddings all the time.
When I got back, people I didnÍt know
at work would come right up to me and say,
ïHey, I heard your wedding on the air.Í
That was cool. Like I was famous maybe.
Like Madonna.î
The Sea
Outside early, I catch a whiff of sea,
while standing landlocked, miles from any shore.
I whirl about, trying to find the source,
foolishly peering through the maple trees,
as if IÍd find it playing hide and seek.
Not there, of course„it traveled on the air
or maybe lives within me, water, salt,
vestiges of some majestic ocean
whose drops, divided, hide, like sparks of light,
but call out to each other, sweat to tears,
(me to you, woods to vanishing shore)
to form again that force that overtakes
and, undercutting, washes us away.
I smell it in the damp October air,
an ocean I know is and isnÍt there.
The Fifth Question
How is this night different from all other nights?
On all other nights I kiss once, or not at all.
On this night I kiss twice,
one salty tear from the corner of each eye.
Once, to taste the bitter tears of oppression that you felt.
To remind myself of the prisons we build
with our own strong hands,
industriously mixing the mortar
with outstretched arms.
And twice, to taste the bittersweet tears of freedom,
claimed only after so many years.
Freedom still within constraint,
but freedom at least to
kiss, twice.
Daylight Saving Time
On this, the darkest morning of the year,
WhoÍs out there, glad to turn the clock hands back:
Some death row inmates waiting for the phone,
Or lovers with one night to spend alone?
I choose which hour I want to live again,
Which moment to prolong, whose lips to kiss.
A small attempt at traveling back through time„
Most likely worlds wonÍt change because of this,
No chance to thwart some monumental crime.
I reach across the bed for you, and when
That thought of ñSleep, catch up,î rings in my ear,
IÍll risk it, stay awake, live with that lack.
Someday the clock will call to be repaid
But canÍt take back this hour that IÍve made.