December 8–14, 2008: Lisa Feinstein and Linda Leedy Schneider

week of December 8-14, 2008

Lisa Feinstein and Linda Leedy Schneider

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Lisa Feinstein
mohfoh13@aol.com

Bio (auto)

My work has appeared in the online journals Poetry Midwest, Flutter Poetry Journal, Up the Staircase and has been printed in Jigsaw, Hazmat Review, Poetry Motel and Vincent Brothers Review I also have work appearing in the upcoming issue of GUD Magazine
Recently, I was awarded first prize over-all in the Mississippi Valley Poetry Contest.

The following work is Copyright © 2008, and owned by Lisa Feinstein and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


On Tuesday

Meet me by the train tracks
where the sign reads no longer in service We will sit ourselves down, hard on the ground,
close our eyes and try to hear the trains
like we used to
years ago, before grass grew up between the tracks,
before the warehouses all shut down, the hobos
found homes and we stopped talking

about jumping on and you
really did And on Tuesday,

you can sit with me, hold a rail
in each hand,
spill your stories like salt
onto the cracked wood and tell me how
you kissed ghosts in Croatia, swapped quarters
for seasoned Slavic folktales, spare changed
in Brussels, went hungry in the Languedoc but feasted
on paella and Asturian cider
in Madrid Tell me how railways

are like trees with branches,
and oceans are meaningless puddles I might
remind you, your love
of the land, and chaos, can never
bring back the corn fields
If a train comes by,
on Tuesday, off schedule, off course, off time,
belting out rhythm and smoke,
I will watch you jump on,
barely reaching the box car, arms flapping like wings,
toss you your bag,  wave,
then walk home.


How to Turn Off Time

First, stop all the clocks Moisturize your skin,
cocoa butter, cooking oil, dishonesty– rub it in Time is slippery

you see Close your eyes, press a palm
hard against the minute hand, wishing for something

other than old age, tracing the numbers until your fingers
fall through the face
Work your hand through the hole, until you feel
the stubble of his chin, and grab onto a man

you have not seen in days, months, years, maybe even centuries,
careful not to scratch his eyes or throat

as you count out your breath, in measures
and eighth notes,  puff your cheeks

with song, or at the very least a whistle,
and call the dog in from the yard It has begun to rain
Time is starting to recede, the oceans call their water home,
and you must stretch that hole like a memory, pulling it over your head

the dog at your heels, wearing that hole like a sweater,
loose around your neck, remembering every sweater

you have ever owned, recalling the phone number
of each person you have ever called, and dancing the dances

you once only watched, and eventually, as you work
through the waltzes, minuets, tangos and paso dobles,

distant phones will ring, oceans will rage, men will tip their hats,
and time will cease to exist,

and you will be young again.

Flipping Channels at 3 AM

8

We all want warm eggs
fresh from the down, fresh
with the weight of motherhood,
gathered by hand, culled
from clucking hens somewhere west
of Eggland
10

Refugees running towards cameras,
contained by fence,
as if wires were an answer
to the distance we have forged
with bullets, hunger,
and strong beliefs we wrap about our necks
like scarves
13

Learning how to fly hurts,
abrasions, statues crumbling from the sky
21

A black and white housewife,
sips tea,
squeezed, it seems
from the nipple of moderation,
milky with curd and yesterday
31

And if you order now
all this can be yours.

Linda Leedy Schneider
LOSchneide@aol.com

Bio (auto)

Lindy Leedy Schneider, Grand Rapids, Michigan, is an award winning internationally published poet and writer, distance poetry and writing mentor, psychotherapist in private practice, and faculty member at Kendall College of Art and Design She has also taught at Aquinas College and Ferris State University In 2008 she received a Pushcart nomination She conducts writing groups at Gilda’s Club for people living with cancer Linda’s volunteer work in orphanages in Albania motivated her to submit writings and poetry for publication Her work has since been published in over 150 literary magazines including Rattle Magazine, The Spoon River Poetry Review, Pudding Magazine, Driftwood Review, Midwest Poetry Review, Miranda Literary Magazine, ONTHEBUS, The Pedestal Magazine, jerseyworks, and The Sow’s Ear She has written five collections of poetry including Through the Lattice: Poetry of a Psychotherapist, Argonne House Press, 2002, and Through my Window: Poetry of a Psychotherapist, Pudding House Publications, 2007 Many of her writing students have been published as well Linda believes that a regular writing ritual leads to discovery, authenticity personal growth, and even JOY.

The following work is Copyright © 2008, and owned by Linda Leedy Schneider and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Words Struggle in Me

the way babies once kicked,
full of possibilities, 
but needing to incubate,
to drink from my body, 
lounge around, until time
to line up and be born
I take my words to see Monet and Olendorf,
feed them poetry by Oliver and Eliot,
Let them inhale fresh bread and damp sheets,
listen to Bach and The Beatles
I carry them to the gym
where they roll around
as I count steps and reps I let them consider rhythm
They are with me at the grocery store
when I pick up turkey and provolone,
two apples and dark chocolate
The words arrange and rearrange
themselves as I pick up my bags
I take my words on walks,
let them play with other people’s words,
even trade some away and take on others
like amoeba exchanging their parts
for recreation or procreation
A writer must be ruthless
with her words They are only the parts:
not the breath, the baby or the poem

Previously published in
Through My Window: Poetry of a Psychotherapist,
Pudding House Publications, 2007.