Two Poems

Lucy M Logsdon

The Loss

I was tired of being pretty, so
I shaved my head. I had had so much
hair, thick, full, brown wavy
tresses, so when my scalp
begin to show, after the scissors,
after the shearing, after the inch
long jagged clumps, after
the razor, I stopped, stared
in the mirror. My mother had
said “don’t do it.”
I answered “just watch me.”

Mother, that’s how it always
went. Don’t. And then I did.
Her death leaves me nothing
to rail against. Except, of course,
her death. I cried for nights over my bare, bristled
head. I wrapped myself tenderly
in bandanas and scarves.
I curled into a ball so tiny,
no mother could ever find me.

In Hospital

In the hospital, you
forget the need for clothes.
You forget the birds, the trees, the sun.
You don’t forget the need to pee,
but have trouble recalling how
to get from bed to toilet.
You do not forget the name
of your night nurse. Your one
link to changing position.
You love her as much as you’ve
loved anyone. A mother, a saint.
You pray for her to arrive.
To shift you from right to left.
The whole world spins away.
Morphine whispers its loving
hymns. You sing, you rock.
You had a name.
You will again. For now,
you are a chart, a sheaf,
numbers, beeps, a low sad hum.


Lucy M. Logsdon’s recent publications include Poet Lore, Nimrod, The Southern Poetry Review, Literary Orphans, Sixfold, Gingerbread House Literary Magazine, Rose Red Review, Conclave: A Journal of Character, Cross Poetry Review, The California Quarterly, and Seventeen magazine. She has received a Macdowell Writing Colony fellowship and taught at The Frost Place. She received her MFA from Columbia University, and served as the Program Director at the National Book Awards. Currently, she teaches at Southeastern Illinois College. In her spare time, she raises chickens and ducks with her husband.

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