Winter 2005-6

Lenore Weiss


I'm repeating this again
because it needs to be repeated
like a bobble-head
that keeps waggling its eyes at me.

About time.
About him.
About me.
About place.

A woman warmed her nose
inside a tunnel of fingers. She saw:
eye-gougers, pliers for ripping ears,
a necklace of nails.

There was a small door
in a large wall
covering the spot
where something breathed.

On Hitler's birthday,
he'd served cup cakes
iced with red swastikas
to a guest with 1,000 eyes.

Now the interrogator gets close,
drenched in contempt.
The only thing protecting her
was his jet lag.

Later on, burning tires
floated down a river of oil.
Others sold images of the Virgin
on grilled cheese sandwiches.

About time.
About love.
About face.
About now.

It keeps coming up.
Memory extends my hair
to the next country.
Call me ASAP.

Originally, from the South Bronx, Lenore now lives in Oakland, California. She has published two chapbooks, "Public and Other Places," and "Come Untogether." Her poems have appeared in Paterson Literary Review, les cahiers des femmes, Prism, Blue Collar Review, Raven Chronicles, Citizen32, and others.



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