Monday, January 23, 2017

Sitting in the Brown Chair with Lets Pretend on the Radio by Lyn Lifshin

I don’t think how the
m and m’s that soothe
only made my fat legs
worse. I’m not thinking
how my mother will 
die, of fires that could
gulp a mother up, leave
me like Bambi. I’m not
going over the baby sitter’s
stories of what they did to
young girls in tunnels, of
the ovens and gas or have
nightmares I’ll wake up
screaming for one whole
year wanting someone to
lie near me, hold me as if
from then on no one can get
close enough. I don’t hear
my mother and father yelling,
my mother howling that if
he loved us he’d want to buy
a house, not stay in the apart-
ment he doesn’t even pay
her father rent for but get
a place we wouldn’t be
ashamed to bring friends.
What I can drift and dream
in is more real. I don’t want
to leave the world of golden
apples and silver geese. To
make sure, I close my eyes,
make a wish on the first hay
load of summer then wait
until it disappears

Lyn Lifshin has published  over 130 books and chapbooks including 3 from Black Sparrow Press: Cold Comfort, Before It's Light and Another Woman Who Looks Like Me. An update to her Gale Research Autobiography is out: Lips, Blues, Blue Lace: On The Outside. Also just out is a dvd of the documentary film about her: Lyn Lifshin: Not Made Of Glass. Just out: Femme Eterna and Moving Through Stained Glass: the Maple Poems.  Forthcoming: Degas Little Dancer and Winter Poems from Kind of a Hurricane Press, Paintings and Poems, from Tangerine press (just out) and The Silk Road from Night Ballet, alivelikealoadedgun from Transcendent Zero Press Just Out.


1 comment:

  1. The interesting thing about Lets Pretend on the radio on Saturday mornings back in the later Forties, as I remember it, is that on the south side of Chicago at least early grammar school children of both sexes listened to it. In third grade it was one of the highlights of the weekend. I don’t know that television can capture the movies that program could show in a young child’s mind. In many ways it helped me and my sister escape the reality of our home, not always that pleasant for reasons different than in Lyn Lifshin’s poem.