Jen Karetnick

Grandmother Fugue from Issue 53

 

Stranger, I cross your room

Daughter, you cross my room

 

looking you over as I go

overlooking me as you goㅡ

 

to the window overlooking mulberries.

the window, at least, sees

 

Your will specifies ashes.

how my will has beat this thing to ashes.

 

I am never who you think I am.

I am not, you think. I am.

 

I wonder when I will have to arrange

So make other arrangements

 

chairs in the shape of a sonnet,

for this chair that shapes me like a sonnet.

 

hire a rabbi. It won’t be long.

Hire a band. It won’t be long.

 

The rhymes you sang to me as a child

The rhymes I sang to you as a child

 

I can only hum now, wordless.

I can still sing. Listen.

 

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