Monday, 14 March 2022

The Widow of Fajes Grandes

by Eve Rifkah

Whitecaps rise and fall as distant dolphins.
I once shook my fist, spat at the sea – Feh!
the devil in blue the devil in green-gray grabbed
my Josef – mine – What am I saying?
With the sea there is no mine.
Taught heaven hell, God and devil
out there is only air and sea
one breathes or doesn’t.
The sea took my man spun in sail and oar
and splintered keel. What kind of payment was that?
I say Feh on the priests
no God can heal my empty bed.

I turn my back to the sea
the ache snakes up my stomach
fills my throat with spume  
turn away     tighten robe    put kettle on
grind coffee    slice bread
pull out bucket and brush
clean these old tiles again
the wash water bites me cold    
I force again my hand
my flesh into the vastness
into the depths that I know has bottom
I will not fall in.

* * * * *

"The Widow of Fajes Grandes" is from Eve Rifkah's 4th book, Lost in Sight (Silver Bow Publishing, 2021).

Eve Rifkah was co-founder of Poetry Oasis, Inc. (1998-2012), a non-profit poetry association dedicated to education and promoting local poets. Founder, and editor of DINER, a literary magazine. She is the 2021 recipient of the Stanley Kunitz award. She lives in Worcester, MA with her husband and cat, Bela.

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