Enter Home Planet News Poetry of Issue #6                        Page 15
Table of


Men are brave to risk their lives
to fight and kill in war,
bleeding life’s blood
          from enemies.
Women risk their lives to give
birth to new life
offering life’s blood
          from bleeding wombs.

Men win honorary medals
to display
          on proud chests.
Women are told to cover
          shameful breasts
while they give milk,
          nursing life.
Their breasts are our first link
in the food chain that binds
          all to Mother Earth
with photosynthesis—their
          breasts, not mere
          objects of sex.

Men are praised for bleeding
          life unto death.
Who made our enemies
          to defend us from?

Women are shamed, told they’re
          for bleeding life unto life.

What say you is courage,
it comes to giving
          blood to life?

Where should honorary medals
      be displayed,
             on stiff proud chests
             or soft nurturing breasts.

  Daniela Gioseffi __

An Old Widow Dreams

I am my own best company
at last. No one to wait on,
no one to serve. Instead of worry
of what will please him,
I learn to please myself,
relax. Sleep when I wish,
not hearing his snores.
rise when I feel rested,
open my eyes in the empty room,
Oh, how I miss the hum of his tune.

Loll and read, leave
books on the table,
clothes on a chair, his chair.
Oh, how I miss him his care.

I please myself at last,
enjoy solitude, my thoughts are mine,
uninterrupted by unspoken needs,
no laundering his smelly underwear,
cooking his favorite meals,
to please and care….
Oh, how I miss cooking for him.

Lonely, but calm,
singing my own psalm,
as the sky grows bigger
and full of expanding multi-universes
of exploding stars,
unknown is what we really are,
no center in vast eternity,
my own best company,
Alone with our past.

Oh, how I miss him,
forever, at last.

  Daniela Gioseffi__
Virtually Speaking

Instead of sending
texts, emails, and posts
with smiley faces and
truncated terms that
convey cookie-cutter
symbolism and generic
hogwash, let’s meet at
Starbucks for an artisanal
tête-à-tête, lightly sweetened
with a dollop of kindness
and a shot of sincerity,
so we can discuss my
poor behavior at the
party last night and why
when we get mad at
each other we should
ditch the digital and
talk on the phone.

  Martin H. Levinson __

Crossing Smith Street
© Patricia Carragon: Crossing Smith Street