“ An Old Friend”

She’s an old friend,   

just a co-worker now—an acquaintance   

We smile when we pass in the hall   

We share complaints about classes, victories with kids   

Lately, she’s lost her smile   

Her usual elegance fades    

Her eyes, downcast as she walks, miss my smiled greetings   

Someone whispers a rumor   

asks what I know—me, the ostrich with her head in the sand   

I look around   

Suddenly I see her loss   

realize her shock and grief   

Stunned, I see them together—       

as she must see them, too       

He sniffs around the other woman like she’s a bitch in heat       

They drive up in the same car       

step out for lunch       

stand together in the hallway       

flirtatiously laughing       

body language that screams—Couple       

What words can I offer?       

advice, as they say, is cheap   

How do I let her know I care   

without letting her painfully realize—   

I know   

(just like everyone else)   

I can talk to her, try to listen, try to be around just a little more   

Her other friends and I can form a safety net   

but we can’t protect her from anger, loss, grief   

We see it in her eyes  

in the way she moves now   

I remember another time when she had no net   

her loss almost killed her    

So, I’ll stand guard

Copyright 1999 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Playing Games”

Love to play my games, it seems that’s all I do.       

Turning up at set times, just to rendezvous.       

Rolling new characters to achieve more goals    

forces me to don imaginary souls.   

A rogue, a wizard, a tough tank or a troll—   

the role doesn’t matter—I am always bold.       

Playing for more coin, whether silver or gold,       

becomes challenging; the grinding’s never old.   

Love all the carrots dangled before my nose:   

requiring new levels, armor, or the clothes.   

Running through an instance, hanging with my crowd,     

ganging up on villains always is allowed.   

Love to play my games, it seems that’s all I do.   

Glad that my virtual world led me to you!

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman  

“Mother’s Clone”

cradled gently in her arms   

Mother bends her head close to Child   

her finger feathers the pure smooth cheek     

her hair becomes a sheltering shield   

protecting them from prying eyes   

in syncopation Mother and Child breathe   

one without the womb   

Mother’s eyes mist as Child’s hair darkens   

her mouth becomes a rigid line     

when bluish eyes turn brown   

her voice takes on ice     

when others note differences   

in syncopation Mother and Child breathe   

one without the womb   

Mother’s heart hardens   

her Child wields her wayward will   

with terrible temper tantrums   

fists and teeth and legs fighting   

struggling against Mother’s programming   

in syncopation Mother and Child breathe   

one without the womb   

desperation drives Mother’s dissatisfaction   

she tethers Child with demands   

her fears feed phobias and fictional afflictions   

her disappointment distorts her love   

her rejection rips through Child   

in syncopation Mother and Child breathe   

one without the womb

 

Mother and Child stab and wound   

pushing and pulling in tangled bindings   

never severing the umbilical cord   

they dance in macabre madness   

enmeshed and ensnared within their love-hate trap   

in syncopation Mother and Child breathe   

one without the womb

 

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Frying Eggs”

The air carries ripples   

a Saran Wrap view   

of my world   

pulling tight off the rooftops   

My Keds melt and ooze   

as I tiptoe across the blacktop   

jumping over bubbles that pop in the road   

My hair plasters against my head   

a blonde Pixie helmet   

I envy the crew cuts sported by the boys   

We stand in a semicircle   

smudging sweat from smarting eyes   

watching in wonder   

Dad cracks the egg   

one-handed like a master chef   

he doesn’t break the yoke   

the edges turn white against the tar   

I lean closer   

 hand resting on Dad’s shoulder   

for a better view   

“See,” I challenged my ring of doubters   

“It is hot enough to fry an egg!” 

  

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Saturday in the Swing”

Saturday in the swing

            serenaded with cicada song

                        and the chuck-chuck-chuck

                                    of chiding squirrels

                                                I float

                                    aimless—and appreciative

                                                of quiet moments spent swaying

My dog calls greeting to our neighbor

            rolling her Rs like that old Ruffles commercial

                        she’s a sentry

                                    sniffing out lizards

A breeze plays with my writing paper

            dances the words among the shadows

                        cast from sun and leaves

                                    making me dizzy in the Texas heat

A paw taps my knee

            accompanied by a whine

                        I’m abandoned

                                    for central air

Moisture collects

            on the back of my neck

                        on upper lip

                                    around my hairline

                                                behind my knees

I inhale humidity

            yet I linger

                        savoring my Saturday in the swing

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman