Chanah Wizenberg

The Demise of Mr. Smith

He was an evil man, bullying, belligerent.
Then, he hit her.

On his phone coming down the stairs, 
I screamed,
he startled and tumbled down,
landing in a grotesque arabesque.

I sniffed his nose, satisfied,
returned to my place in the sun,
purring, with my tail neatly tucked in.

Wake Up!

There is nothing like
loving pets
a dog and cat
both rescues
both quirky sweet
and comical

They are my alarm clock
punctual proud and prompt
they wake me each morning

Marmalade first
head butts and purring songs
pouncing on my back and
springing off again

Asha’s turn
her specialty
a wet willy
with that
cold nose

If that doesn’t work
nibbles to my neck

The Call and Response of Spring

The trees stand tall and proud
their branches dip and bend
with the wind’s gentle push
the Kelly-green leaves
sway and dance their
call and response

The squirrels chase each other
spiraling up and down the great oaks
and slim pines across the ground
and back up again chattering their
call and response

The birds glide and soar
and sweep around and past
each other until they take a
timeout on a branch high
or low to the ground singing their
call and response

Birthday Discovery

For twelve years
my birthday
was celebrated
on April 7th

And then
Searching for a vet record
I came upon my birth record

A truth was revealed
my birthday is
April 9th

Birthday, Oy

61 Oy, I don’t relate.
Feel like thirty-eight.

Looking in the mirror
I hear my father say,
“Who the hell is that?”

I contemplate,
who is that?

Salt and pepper hair,
double chin,
turkey neck,
Oy.

Don’t look!
Go for a swim instead.
Revel in the compliments.

Ambiguous Sunrise

Exhaustion permeates our beings
autopilot kicked in last Tuesday
or was it this Tuesday?

None of us know
it’s the holiday season
you know

the time of year chefs
bakers and candy makers
are in full steam production mode

the time when sunrise can be
sunset and sunset can be sunrise

the lights the same
the fatigues the same

Whether it’s sunrise or sunset
we’re on automatic
cranking out the croissant

Rolling out the pie dough
knotting up the bread dough
and shaping the marzipan

Circumference

Expanding circumferences abound
pandemic bellies world around

Baking bread loaves perfectly round
with mounds of butter
to wash it down

Circle back around
bound for seconds
even thirds

No wonder rounder bodies abound

Martini Heaven

Chilled glass
four parts gin
one part vermouth
extra olives

Ice cold and breezy
smooth and piney
notes of evergreen

And the olives
salty effervescence

It’s heaven

~~~

Chanah Wizenberg received her BA from Hunter College in English and Creative Writing. Her poetry has appeared in several magazines and anthologies. Chanah has been a professional ballerina, a pastry chef, and an English teacher. She resides in Raleigh, North Carolina with her dog, Asha, and her cat, Marmalade. This is Chanah’s first feature on The Short of It.

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No Pants

Inspired by Eugenia’s Weekly Prompt – Guiding Light & Reena’s Exploration Challenge #230

in today’s world of text messages and emails
confusion over interpretation mounts
face time, video chats, and zoom meetings
brings us together live
to determine intent and desired goals
our guiding light is honesty, openness, and cooperation
to achieve desired outcomes

well, mostly…

City Life

Inspired by Reena’s Exploration Challenge #227 & Eugenia’s Weekly Prompt – Dewdrops

hustle and bustle
their next stop on their minds
mindlessly plodding each next step

beware of collisions!
auto or man

the hectic encountered here
is nothing like dewdrops on blades of grass
remaining stationery
or slow and lazily falling wherever

With Manic Efficiency

She takes the large dish in hand
rinsing it well before feeding it to the dishwasher,
noticing the stains in the sink.

With care and with rubber gloves,
she bleaches the darkness out of existence,
being careful not to inhale the fumes.

Next, all the messes, in every room
awaiting her professional touch,
laundry, toilets, floors and more.

It’s important to have it all in order,
she tells herself, a function of stability.
A calm exterior belies the mess inside.

She’s become the facilitator of happiness,
taking care of everyone else’s this and that
of expectations, a role of dependability.

What does it get her beyond the praise
left unspoken far too often
in the doing and undoing in the messes of others?

It’s been said “Cleanliness is next to godliness,”
also “Cleanliness becomes more important when godliness is unlikely,”
Nice sentiments. She just wants to be whole.

Too many times, she gave away too much of herself,
so that there’s nothing left, now that they have left her.
She’s running on repetition and it’s all that she knows.

Accomplishments

Thanks Mindlovemisery’s Menageris – Saturday Mix for another opportunity to plug The Sound of Brilliance.

Work real hard towards an end,
I won’t pretend.
I can taste it.
I’ll never quit.

Projects are always an effort,
make my head hurt.
Ah, the reward,
talents explored.

Coming together for a cause,
only because
they are brilliant.
I’m ebullient!

In The Mundane Moments

i take a step back to refocus
ordinary tasks beckon
i watch silently, attentively
as the rivulets of water splash in the basin

thoughts begin to cascade in
jumbled and incoherent at first
yet sentences start to form
as the words assemble reasonably

quick, let me write that down
to capture the emotions and the intent
conveying my thoughts is such satisfaction
even in the boring routine of the day

Reblog – Efficiency by Reena Saxena

This piece resonated with me. I imagine it will for many of you as well!

Reena Saxena

logging in
at a specified time
tackling chores
in a particular order
tickboxing
tasks as complete

I did not ever realize
how clean inboxes
became timely delivery
how obsessions
became efficiency
I’m lauded for

I just can’t think
away from the screen
it is this rectangle
which controls life-
also makes me a slave
of all that I am today

Poetics at dVerse

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Wordle #462

If miners wear cotton-linen beneath their uniform, it can darken like the coal they caress on the job. In dumping the shards into a cart, a raucous cacophony bounces around the mine. They labor strenuously, day after day. Many miners covet a rich man’s lifestyle, call for one less arduous. Sadly, their station in life leaves them coated with a daily cover of dust, the color as black as what comes from the walls. At shift’s end, they hang their filthy pickaxes on the built-in column. The sun’s corona, an unusual sight, greets them at the entrance of the mineshaft.