I’m retired from my work as a microbiologist and later as a psychotherapist. I love the freedom to do as I please, to create handmade one-of-a-kind cards or sew quilts, or work on poetry, dipping in and out of it like a tern running along the shore. By reading and writing poetry, I come to terms with my obsessions. Many of my poems are an intersection of my history and today’s events.
Let us throw the pills into the Dumpster, shed
spiked heels and underwire bras to don
silly hats, brims loaded with plastic fruit,
ribbons flowing like long hair. Let us refuse
the beeps of cell phones, read between the lines
of texts. Let us shun fashion’s force
on fabric’s cut, knead dough with the grace
and power of Julia Child, never bullied
by the list of ingredients or number of steps.
For all who hunger, may they be filled
with word music to drown out the self-blame
of what is left undone— dishes, symphonies,
embroidery kits, books bought and never read.
Let us seize the chance to chew what is dished,
spit out what we can’t swallow, show the bones
hidden in soft fibers. Conductors, we wave hands
over a field of wildflowers and insects rise
singing, ever singing, our shameless mentors.
© 2018 Joan Mazza
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