PoetryAloud

---

Clarence Wolfshohl Reads

The Woman Who Took Everything to Heart

When the surgeons opened her heart
while keeping theirs closed, heads
in control, they found kitchen appliances
from 1935 on, refrigerators and blenders
she had set hers on as a bride,
ten foot high Nebraska snowdrifts
that never melted, one thousand miles
of dirt and gravel road crammed
in a 1915 Model-T sedan,
packing crates of grapefruits--
Ruby Reds from the Rio Grande Valley--
several men in various stages
of tenderness, one with a ring,
children in snapshots wearing cowboy
boots and poodle  skirts, bouquets
of faded camellias and tables
of card games, grudges with salt
at the temples, some completely gray
or bald, sensible nursing shoes
sticking out tongues, missed
opportunities and occasions,
stale sentiments and promises,
cross words and gentle joshing.
The doctors sutured everything back in,
intricate needlework across her chest,
knew if they cleaned it out,
she would float away.
​
​

Clarence Wolfshohl

                                                   Return to PoetryAloud                                    Read Clarence Wolfshohl's poetry here.