I wish I were a fly on the wall —
the limestone wall in front of the Bernsteins —
or a lizard, hiding in the cracks;
or a cat, crouching on top of the composter.
Then my husband and his old friend
won’t notice me witnessing their reunion
and won’t curtail their spoken recollections,
censor their words out of respect
for my feminine sensibilities.
I want to hear the raw, unfiltered
male brutality, their blunt assessments,
their crude dismissals.
I want to hear their cynical put-downs,
idle boasts, reconstructed memories.
I am a part of their histories.
I want to hear what is usually unsaid.
— April 19, 2017 / 23rd of Nisan,
Eighth Day of the Omer Counting /
Chesed sh’b’Gevurah
Comments:
This is a personae poem, in which I inhabit the voice of another person, possibly an invented person. It was published in arc-26 (2019).
