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Selected Poetry
Flu Vaccine
Because I have been persistent
and aggressive;
because I have been chummy, chatty and charming;
because I have mentioned the names of Doctors Bigshot
and Poohbahboobah;
because I have pleaded, let my voice
waver at Desperation Cliff;
because English is my native tongue
I know
to phone this Friday morning;
to bypass the message that recommends I call
1-800-Spin-You-in-Circles;
to press 3, the live human voice
and inform said voice:
I know 2000 vials of vaccine have arrived.
I present credentials -
chronic this-and-that, upcoming danger,
possible hush-don’t-speak-its-name.
The human voice checks. Corroborates.
Finds that Yes,
my name is on the playing grid to compete
against two-year-olds, mothers with AIDS,
my friend with emphysema to win
Most Desperate 2000.
The chosen will be called,
appointments made.
The others, she’s not sure, maybe
a letter will come by mail.
This same morning in Fallujah
2-year-olds,
mothers with AIDS,
someone’s friend with emphysema,
a woman like me - chronic this-and-that,
upcoming danger, possible
hush-don’t-speak-its-name -
hide from election prizes
tossed from the sky.
All this interrupts my lessons.
I am studying kindness of heart,
mindfulness.
I have taken a sacred vow
to ban the word “evil” from my mouth.
But words, too, persevere, pry open the jaw.
There it is, caught between my teeth
where my tongue can’t dislodge it.
from Blind Spot (2006)
My Grandmother Hated the Neighbors
Every Saturday morning, in 3-inch heels
and make-up, her dress hemmed
to the knees, she walked up the driveway
and –– right in front of them –– started up
her car, then drove to the beauty shop
where, beneath the hairdryer,
that chanting wouldn’t be heard.
Was it just to humiliate her
that they prayed outside
wearing long coats and velvet hats,
their sideburns curled like girls,
davening their mumbo jumbo
like it was the Middle Ages
and we lived in a filthy shtetl?
Or, just to shame us all
in front of the goyim
that they grew their beards
untamed — like they wanted
someone to yank at them? Pull them
down to their knees and her
–– an American –– with them.
Blind Spot
All poems copyright Susan Eisenberg.
