The following poems are part of an ongoing work entitled
FIT TO PRINT, PLUS--poems based on theTimes, and others.

 

One of Us

 

Barbara Winkler, 59, spends

$250 of her disability check

on a monthly rail pass.

This is her rent.

She rides the train

day and night

up and down the New Jersey coast.

Ms. Winkler eats a bowl of Chinese

chicken soup daily.

Sleeping is a problem.

So are laundry and bathing.

 

When younger, Ms. Winkler was well-groomed,

married, a mother. Divorce

broke her. When her family said,

"See you later,"

she tried a shelter, finds

the train's better. The conductors

all know her. One buys

her food. She has something

to do, someplace to go. She's

one of us, breathing stale air, hearing

wheels thump seams

in tracks.

 

TIMES, 6.10.01

 

This Place

 

The most awful thing about visiting

this place is thinking about living here

myself, in diapers and wheelchair with the

other old women, all worsening,

 

including my mother, who doesn't know where

she is. Sometimes she solves the mystery

by thinking she's home, asking me to mix

 

her a drink, order Chinese. The aides fix

her hair so she looks like a Barbie doll.

That stops after she bites one of them,

breaking the skin - she who used to zing

 

so deftly with words. Now she's told all

her stories. I can't make her young again.

I park. Breathe. Force myself to go in.

7.14.01

 

 

Nikolay Palchikoff's Words

 

What I saw now:

nothing.

No birds.

No people.

No buildings.

No trees.

No life.

Outlines of human

bodies burned

like negatives

in cement.

 

"The Nuclear August of 1945,"

Op-Ed, TIMES, 8.6.01

 

 

Balloons

 

Formerly forbidden bouquets

pedal into Kabul on bikes,

peacock tails spread, tugging

wind, catching light - I had one

when sick as a child - it hugged

my ceiling, slowly sank - when it

lay limp on braided rug, I was well,

got out of bed - the Red Balloon's

friends soar in Parisian updrafts -

the little lame balloon man whistles

far and we laugh - in Kabul a host

rises up, crosses continent, sea, swings

tethering strings into hands of fire

fighters' kids - blue, green, pink,

yellow, purple bubbles of delight

float like fall leaves, bump

adult heads, touch mourners' faces

in Trade Center Memorial Park.

 

 

TIMES, 11.23.01

TIMES, 11.25.01

 

 

--Margaret A. Robinson

 

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