The Trick to Life

The Trick to Life

Pushing the wheel uphill

he seized the day,

eyes on the squirrel, cautionary

tail up flared

swervy down.

Thinking about what you are

doing now,

and what you have to do next.

No tense. Pre-

tense,

pretend.

So cold it made him look mad (she said),

while the thundering winds pushed

dry corn fields to the left.

Air –peppered.

Peel rubber.

Hammer on.

African sculpture, door-stop.

Iron- cast.

Plaid –flannel.

Fire -toast.

Blast -furnace.

The world here is perfect.

I’m gazing at you,

ride and  turn.

 BK

November 2

Holding my Tongue

Holding my Tongue

I saw myself sitting on

the ground, cold, white and the sky

too, elbows wrapping knees, only I 

was being played by

someone else- an Eskimo doll from

my childhood that now sits on the bookshelf

in my sister’s room. Her old one.

Winter is blowing my hair. Or 

the doll’s hair, and the sound effects are

being made by the cars 

whooshing by outside just

edging to the red stop sign. Sting

to your mind’s eye or 

sue to your hope. 

Beth Krumholz

Fall 2014

Looking for Loose Change

Looking for Loose Change

You were wearing mis-

matched socks when you

sat on my parents white leather 

mid-century ottoman, the one in their bedroom,

the one with the black legs, 

eyes down, asking my father if you could

marry me.

When I was a girl,

in my pink and blue pajamas, I would

push that ottoman closer

to the polished bureau, climbing

on top of it, looking

for loose change, or really

just anything.

I sat on that same ottoman, 

years later, pushing aside

the folded linens, holding my baby boy, 

after we decided to part, after we made it out 

of the burning building (we would say

to each other), after

we became friends.

Beth Krumholz

Summer 2014