Itinerantdaughter's Blog

Inadequacy.

Toni Mirosevich

USA

Shorthand

My Russian neighbor invites
me in. We sit on her new
plaid couch, the one she is
buying on time. She says,
“I want you to write a poem
about what happened in
Chernobyl. It is the ten-year
anniversary.” I tell her I know
shorthand, assure her I will
take plenty of notes.

She begins to tell the story
of what happened after
the explosion. She remembers
as if it were yesterday, as if
it were still fresh in her mind.
“There was a cover up,” she
says. “They told us there was
nothing wrong.” She tells me
about her coworkers in Kiev,
about where they scattered.
About the farm fields around
the plant. “Everyone went on
to develop cancer,” she says,
then in a hush, as if the KGB
is still listening, “Leukemia.”
I tell her leukemia is a hard
word to rhyme. Her son is
ten, she says. Could I write
now please?

I walk home quickly, while
it’s still fresh in my mind.
I look down at my notes,
At the only two words
on the page:

weird strawberries.

Shorthand appeared in Blue Mesa Review (Issue 14, 2002)

This entry was posted on November 6, 2009 at 4:25 am and is filed under Not a Poet. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.