Three Poems
by Judith Skillman
LONG HOURS OF ILLNESS
I have spent alone, listening
to the spring birds sing and talk
to one another. Trees stand
in the great wood beyond
the window. White filigree
for the cherry, pink for the plum.
For me merely the blouse
of a peasant who tills her troughs
hoping to find sustenance
in glacial till, to drink afresh
from irrigation channels
mired in droughts.
THE ASTERS
Remind me of my father’s stars,
purple-blue,
though he’s been gone these twenty-five years.
I’d like to ride his promise
of a super nova,
to blend
with sky, be the young star
held by power, my fear
quieted by a man
in whose presence
fireballs greened days,
meteors seared nights. Asters in October
remind me to shimmy
in search
of one good dream.
A JOURNEY DOWN THE SPREE
The German countryside
does not lament.
It keeps an arbor of green
for those who watch
from a yacht
at center of the river
young girls
hanging laundry on lines
and cheese draining whey
through a net bag.
Houses where the Resistance
entered by stone steps
into damp rooms with wet walls.
We pose as if nothing happened
except sturm und drang.
Those taken hostage
in their pajamas
merely agreed to board
trains and sit in shit-filled straw.
They were not fed caviar,
remember? Do you remember
now?
Judith Skillman’s poems have appeared in Commonweal, Threepenny Review, Zyzzyva, and other literary journals. She has received awards from Academy of American Poets and Artist Trust. Oscar the Misanthropist won the 2021 Floating Bridge Press Chapbook Award. Her recent collection is Subterranean Address, New & Selected Poems, Deerbrook Editions 2023.
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COLD SIGNAL 