Tilt-a-Whirl
A Poetry Sporadical of Repeating Forms

From Her Own Mind

by Patricia Barone

Ethrelda dies while floating from
her own mind in a double room.
The cat gently chews on its sore paw
as the night nurse hurries to punch in

past the p.m. nurse, who rushes out—
late to bed, can’t quit, she’s out of luck—
to rest her mind in a rented room.
All potato eyes are weeping shoots.

Late in bed, at the shop, in his truck—
the oxygen porter rolls ten tanks.
All potato eyes are weeping shoots.
The kitchen aide jets to Cancun.

The oxygen porter rolls ten tanks.
They sing Lyda Rose in the rec. room.
The kitchen aide lands in Cancun—
Sound the alarm for one eloper.

They sing Lyda Rose in the rec. room.
Outside, the pond is freezing over,
so sound the alarm for one eloper—
Ethrelda’s only lover fell at Anzio.

Outside where the pond is freezing over
an old woman slips on wet oak leaves.
Ethrelda’s only lover falls at Anzio,
shots cracking the ice, ducks, the rushes.

Worn woman slips in on wet oak leaves.
The cat licks its paw, hearing shots
cracking the ice, ducks, the rushes,
and Ethrelda dies while floating.



Patricia Barone published a novella, The Wind, and a book of poetry, Handmade Paper with New Rivers Press. Her poetry has appeared in numerous anthologies and in periodicals such as Earth’s Daughters, American Poetry JournalPleiades, Commonweal, and Milkweed Chronicle. She received a Loft-McKnight Award of Distinction in poetry, chosen by Marilyn Hacker; a Lake Superior Contemporary Writers Award for short fiction; and a Minnesota State Arts Board Career Opportunity Grant to study with the Irish poet Eavan Boland.



 


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