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Jabs of lightening ignite the dusky clouds.
In the quiet meadow, the sting of a bee on my cheek,
A car alarm breaks the midnight silence.
"Get out of my house!" he snarled.
—Ellen Sucov, Jabs
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"A pit lined with fur and barbed wire;
Roast chicken and plastique, warmth
And bile, a kiss and a razor in the ribs:
Our family."
—Marge Piercy, Brother-Less Three: Never Good Enough
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"Italians don't hate strangers, signore. We hate the uncle who screwed us out of an inheritance. Like Momma used to say, 'Trust only family, only family can betray you.' She tried to get along with everyone but. He shakes his head. "Zia Rosa won't talk to her brother, and he won't talk to his wife's nephews, and nobody talks to my cousin Salvatore. My nonna - just before she died, she told us 'Here's who I want you to hate when I'm gone.' Twenty-three names!"
—Mary Doria Russell, A Thread of Grace
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"When you and I sit down to dine
 supposedly alone
There sit beside, behind us
ghostly pairs and fours and 8s, etc.
Of ancestors, some quite compatible
but others not.
No word I drop escapes lightening analysis
by these grim
Visitors from back along the misted
stream of your germ plasma.
No facial tic of yours but is observed
by these mixed savages and gentle folk
Who stare at you across my brow.
It's a wonder we know
any peace."
—Steve Allen writing as William Christopher Stevens,
The Crowded Board from A Flash of Swallows: New Poems
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Talk to Me by Ginny Caputo
The drain is running
Slow in the bathroom sink.
Talk to me.
The weather has been rainy, cold and grey.
Talk to me.
The stuff I see on TV
Bores me half to death.
Talk to me.
Talk to me.
Damn it, talk to me!
What's new?
Are you blue?
Do you miss me?
Are you mad?
Are you glad?
Where's your head?
I'm your mom.
Where have you gone?
Talk to me.
Anything will do.
Bore me to death.
Say something.
Tell me what your cat did
In his litter box today
If necessary.
Just talk to me.
Virginia Caputo © 1996
Reprinted with the permission of Virginia Caputo, November, 2006. See her website
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