Four Poems by Sharon Scholl
"Whatever Happened to," "Laundry," "Choosing a Sympathy Card," and "Silent Partner"
Whatever Happened to . . .
the people in my address book
that vanished in the trackless waste
of silence?
So vivid in my memory, preserved
exactly as we parted, untouched
by time’s disasters.
Not even the obituaries, the police
dockets trace their lost existence,
not my friends’ dim recollections.
They must be hidden somewhere
in an electronic thicket, protected
by secret codes and complex passwords.
It troubles me — the way we limp
from life, drift away like fallen leaves
floating helpless in a sullen tide.
It’s the Schrodinger’s cat dilemma —
are they alive or dead? Except I’m left
without a box to open.
Laundry I recall those childhood Mondays when sheets were stripped from beds, the week’s work clothes piled in color sorted groups waiting their turn for steaming tubs. The parade of kettles filled with boiling water moved cautiously from stove to yard, joining buckets of cold water hoisted from our well. Two generations of women bowed rhythmically into their labor, knuckles rubbed raw on the ribs of washboards, lye soap sudsing meager scum across clothes and arms. I remember endless metal lines strung from poles across the yard, how carefully the pinning up of garments was designed to hide underwear between a shield of sheets. All that sweat and chatter for an acre of clean laundry flapping in the wind.
Choosing a Sympathy Card We sort through these platitudes, the stack of pastel doves and lilies hoping to find the perfect phrase. But each grief is particular with its own mix of sorrow, anger, pity and regret. We do not feel the loss the grievers do, the relief of unexpected freedom, the guilt of conflicts unresolved. A clasp of hands might do as well, a hug be welcome or too personal. Mere presence may be preferred. No matter our intentions, we stand before grief – mute.
Silent Partner He’s mostly deaf and loves it. That’s the unavoidable truth. His sonic world has dwindled to an echo, its clamor fading through the air. For him it is a welcome loss – to be unaware is not to be responsible for anything he doesn’t want to know, anything he doesn’t want to do. Boring chatter he tolerates benignly, seems amenable while staring at the wall. Smiles and handshakes are his repertoire, and he spreads no controversial opinions. I’ve given up transmitting, interpreting like some United Nations translator. The Silent Partner role is just so nice for him that I’ve half a mind to try it for myself.
About the Poet:
Sharon Scholl is a retired college teacher who convenes a poetry critique group, and maintains a website of original music composition for small, liberal churches. Her poetry chapbooks, Seasons, Remains, Evensong, are available via Amazon Books. Her poems are current in Agapanthus Review and O Miami.