Three Poems
by Linda Lamenza
Diagnosis: Wrecked
The curse is the mark,
like Alpine Swiss,
across my fifth metatarsal.
Sometimes it’s a map,
or Monet’s Water Lilies
in deep reds and pinks,
wrecked by someone’s SUV,
a ghoulish work of art
by Saturday’s driver.
Linda Lamenza reads “Diagnosis: Wrecked”:
Honda Pilot
Truth is the purple swollen
disaster of my foot,
where her tire wrecked me
in the Mobil parking lot.
My right elbow
a shattered bone I can
no longer lean on.
Now, I’m a part of her
SUV,
my DNA
forever embedded
in her bumper.
Linda Lamenza reads “Honda Pilot”:
Just Like So Many Things
1.
Alone in the hospital bathroom
I steady myself,
eyes closed, not a white
Johnny, but the wedding
gown I wish I’d worn,
not the non-slip socks,
not the call button.
2.
The architectural hum of my vitals cannot hide.
Though they’ve “lit” a faux vanilla candle
in the community craft room
beside Travel & Leisure—
play soft music,
there’s no way to make this pretty.
3.
The air conditioner rattles the light fixture,
blows hard against the curtain around my bed.
I follow the Physical Therapist
to the small room,
balance fear on the edge of the sink.
This may hurt, she says.
Linda Lamenza reads “Just Like So Many Things”:
Linda Lamenza is a poet and literacy specialist in Massachusetts. Her work is forthcoming or has appeared in Constellations, Rogue Agent, Main Street Rag, The Comstock Review, The Tishman Review, The Nixes Mate Anthology and elsewhere. She is a member of Poemworks: The Workshop for Publishing Poets. Linda’s chapbook, Left-Handed Poetry, was a finalist in Hunger Mountain’s May Day Mountain Chapbook series.