Enter Home Planet News Poetry of Issue #6                        Page 55
                                   
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Grandmother, On Her Lap

Bounced on her lap
happy face I couldn’t see
Her rhythm was lively
I was lucky
Not cooking or working with grandpa
she was having fun with me

After she died I learned
her special face that afternoon
was normal for grandmothers
not the sadness I often saw

Sadness and the dignity of loss
I was not told of--the letters that ceased
after 30 years, the world she’d left behind
with her kinsmen, her landsmen

When a few years later photos were published,
skeletal corpses, those left with bodies,
not the vanished ash, not the dismembered
pieces of life hacked off on Vilna’s streets

she said nothing didn’t speak of kin and friends
those whose silence she had only guessed.
that happy afternoon, I ten and on her lap
silent names she never said

or anything about her usual sadness
I a child, not knowing the why of it
but enjoying that special hour
after which we had chicken, with carrots and good soup.

April 19, 2018

  Roberta Gould __
In a Time of Fear

A public stance against comets is required
So put your head to the wheel
and let the flint grind out
a message clear and neat
Broadcast it do not encrypt it
Let our enemies have it
whether you want to save us or not
The question is complex
Keep your words simple
talk in a way
the public understands

Together, then, we will
defeat the sky
shield ourselves from death
in an original enactment
which will, also, make us famous
So don’t worry about imagination
It’s not important
We can live without it
just fine

  Roberta Gould__
Training

Another thud
and the bag sprang back
Another punch and it was there
live and ready for the next line of aspirers
champions of the ring

Leather model for endurance it
took each punch as muscles would
no bleeding no bruising
just a hard back and forth
energy released
no matter what

…Pummel me harder!
The champs pummeled

Oct 24 2015


  Roberta Gould__
Thanksgiving

Chasing the tram
Glad to jump on
You fly through the street
grip the door with one hand
down hill the route
no holding back
no brake can stop it

So you come to envy the street
black tarred and knowing
where tomorrow will find it
Too late! You ride
the rails wild
pray for survival
and promise
to give thanks
for your breath
if night falls
and you’re happily
whole and empty handed

12’79 11/’16


  Roberta Gould__