Heartbeat

Denying the heart,

A soul withers inside.

Lost to the world,

With desire untried.

Hush the stillness,

In endless chatter.

Filling the night,

Where nothing matters.

Mayfair/2002

There is a little Jewish girl
that sits in the seat of my stomach
and stews and stews...I hate her
with her black babushka tying
back dark hair, veiling
brooding eyes.

She wags her finger at me
with her Hebrew superstitions
and tells me not to write
about love anymore, tells me
about blessings, counting
unhatched chickens, that
if I talk about it,
it will not last.

But I try to tell her
that I am a writer, that
my heart, my mind...
overflow with passion,
feelings, thoughts,
that I must write them down,
that words written down
are forever, remind me
of what I feel, memories,
insecurities, all the
pains and pleasures of
being in love, being alive.

But her superstitions run deep,
come from generations of women
who say one shouldn't talk
about love before marriage,
babies before birth,
death before illness,
bare feet before the
invention of socks.

I laugh at her, at fate,
with my poetry, wondering
if it's okay to write
at the same time, feeling
my stomach churn with
butterflies as she
wags her finger at me
and makes that horrible
sound by clucking her tongue,
awakening me at night,
leaving me unsettled
until I hear his voice
once again telling me...

Shhhhh, my baby girl.
Of course I still
love you and your
poetry...why would you
ever doubt that?

And I hate that
little Jewish girl
in my stomach, her
and her damn pessimism.
I tell her to go away
and she says I'll
never understand the
love of the old country,
the ancestors trying
to protect me from
a broken heart.

I offer her kosher
corn beef on rye and
tell her it will be ok.
Eat, you know I love you.
And she shakes her head
once again, says "What?!
A little Jewish mother
can't worry about her
girl. I was in labor
4 days..."

"Shush, little mammala.
It's time to eat now.
I will write what I want..."

And because it is very
good corn beef--
she does.

Lori Beal

Learn how to get rid of ads on your poetry pages

Email Poem

Vote for this poem

Heartbeat