Two Prose Poems


Always nice to see men here, in this room where the fates of womens' bodies are decided upon. Man and woman enter, woman enters, two women enter, man and woman leave, a different set this time. He offered to come with her. And no, this isn't an abortion clinic. Think higher up. Think love. Think pillow. A woman asks how much longer it's going to be, already an hour late. She brought a book but doesn't dare open it. She wants to savor this part. A woman in a wig comes out of the inner sanctum, a man helps another woman on with her coat. He offered to come with her. The husband of the wig woman rings and enters. She immediately sized him up by his hat and knows that wig's not for chemo, after all. She always assumes the worst. He offered, she refused. But maybe he should have come.

 

 


For Ethel

A little woman. Every time she sees you she reaches up to run her fingers through your hair. Such beautiful hair. Thick and curly, unlike hers. And in intensive care last summer, your father out of it, beyond the pain, she ran her fingers through his hair. Look at those curls. He'd planned to get it cut this week. But he would live to get it cut later. She would drive him home. They would drive each other to doctor after doctor. They would drive to the supermarket, together, once a week. He would drive her to play cards. He would drive her to the beauty parlor, two days before she went in the hospital. She would get a permanent. Her hair has no body. No, that's not right. Body's all that's left now.

 

Copyright © Rochelle Ratner, 2005.

Rochelle Ratner grew up in Atlantic City, New Jersey, and has been writing poetry since her high-school years. Her first collection, A Birthday of Waters, was published in 1971, since when she has published over 15 poetry books, chapbooks, and e-books, most recently House and Home from Marsh Hawk Press (2003) and Going Up Together from Ikon Press (2005).