Jane Schapiro
Jane Schapiro is the author of three volumes of poetry, Warbler (Kelsay Books, 2020 Nautilus Award), Let The Wind Push Us Across (Antrim House 2017), Tapping This Stone (Washington Writers’ Publishing House Award, 1995) and the nonfiction book Inside a Class Action: The Holocaust and the Swiss Banks (University of Wisconsin, 2003). Mrs.Cave’s House won the 2012 Sow’s Ear Poetry Chapbook competition. Her work has appeared in numerous journals including Ars-Medica, Black Warrior Review, Poetry East, Prairie Schooner. Schapiro lives in Fairfax,Virginia and volunteers at Food For Others.
After Carnage
Whatever you do don’t sing,
no melody will hold a tune—
and don’t paint, don’t stretch a canvas
or pick up a brush
as watercolors will bleed,
oils will drip, charcoals smudge,
don’t try for black humor—
no punchlines exist, forget metaphors,
similes, images, stop seeking
apt words, rhymes,
and please
don’t turn grief into sport
sorrow never wins,
nothing can transform a mother’s wail
so believe me when I tell you
this is not a poem.
The Tales We Tell
After listening to my daughter’s unease
I trot out Philoctetes, the snakebit Greek
whose wound never healed but bow never missed.
Balancing on his healthy foot,
he perfected his aim (or so they say).
Think of anxiety as your wound and bow
I tell her, but after she leaves,
I unspool the myth.
His wound was an oozing pus-filled gash
whose stench made even him recoil.
And his bow? A gift from Hercules.
Forget balance and aim, it was magical arrows
that killed each time.
Dread is a trait
I bequeathed to her.
But I don’t say that.
Instead, I translate our flaws into charms
which reminds me of another tale
about a troll who spins straw into gold
to win a child.
