A Poem for Joe Gouveia by Neil Silberblatt

 
Mother’s Day

After the rough muslin was removed

from the mirrors and her shoulders,
she returned the wooden benches,
which she used when she sat for her husband
and now would see no further service,
and waited
patiently
for his return.

Every noise, every stirring of wind
would stir her awake,
certain that it was he.
But the wind was
simply
the wind, carrying nothing but stale air
and the scent of death,
moved about.

She heard, by rumor, that he had visited the others
and that woman,
invited them to examine his wounds,
see for themselves,
a little show and tell,
even had dinner with them.
But not her.

She did not need to see the stigmata,
feel the viscera,
touch the space left by the spear.
She had seen and touched
enough of his wounds
from when he first skinned his knee.
She needed no more.

Just to hear his voice again
once
before muslin was draped over her mirrors
would have sufficed.

 

 

Neil Silberblatt has been writing poetry since his college days. His poetry has been published in various print & online journals; and he has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. He is the founder of Voices of Poetry and has organized poetry events at venues in NY, CT and on the Cape.

Allison Goldin is an artist living in Cambridge. Her work is a collection of spontaneous drawings from the imagination. The most common link throughout her art are the semi-recognizable creatures scattered amongst and bringing together the surrounding doodles. She is currently studying Illustration at The School of Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

 

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