“From Behind the Glass”

Forehead pressed against the pain
with Vision blurred by labored breath        
I push against cold resistance—
on the outside once again
Within sight
Yet out of reach
My desperation weeps
I cannot change
            your heartbreak
I cannot challenge Time—
            Unless I shatter through the glass
                        scarring myself
            to protect you


Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Finding My Voice Again”

            My way to hold onto sanity in a crazy world? Writing. My thoughts flow across the page, whether with pen to paper or fingers flying across the keyboard. Pages fill with my life observations, a narrow slice of my reality as I share bits and pieces of myself to some unknown audience. Sometimes a poem evolves, sometimes a story surfaces. Often, my thoughts and feelings, displayed over a once blank page, leave me puzzled

.

            Did I think that?

            Did I write that?

            Even when I didn’t think I had something to say, words would scatter across the page.

 

            For more than a year, the thought of writing, and sharing those words, burdened me. I realized recently that the January 6 United States Capitol attack silenced me, not immediately, but slowly as the stages of grief tangled up in relationships with family and friends. What do I take away from the friend who waved her hands skyward, praying for my soul to be saved, while she still supports a malevolent tyrant? Did I do mental bargaining with myself that this bond, now more than thirty years strong, could survive my disillusionment? Where do I go with the family members who scorn science and turn away from facts? My wallowing in anger at them changes nothing. They now reveal who and what they’ve been all along: selfish, mean, clannish, narcissists.

 

            Regaining my voice has happened slowly. The first step came with a public library card. Each visit, I select a favorite author, a totally “new-to-me” writer, and two pieces of non-fiction. My non-fiction tethers me back to my roots of in Psychology, enlarges my knowledge of physics or economics, and provides a new, better understandings of how we got to this point in history. I took another step by making certain those places I loved visiting before my years of caregiving became destinations again, like our local museums and the zoo. During the lockdown, my camera opened a view to the small details of life, and I continue focusing on my need to link photography with words.

 

            My voice comes out now because I have to write again.

 

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“A Lesson in Art”

 

            Take a few moments to check out the latest art my son’s offering on his site! These extremely unique pieces are his vision of a black and white world that reflects what we see in the mirror and model through our mannequins of perfection.

https://www.jcmgstudio.com/

Copyright 2023 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

 

"Voiceless"

Rain burning on my cheeks like hot angry tears,
Scorching the world with its acid touch.
I brush it aside and wipe away my fears.
I ignore the destruction; I pretend too much.
 
The dank humid air burns me under its weight,
Forcing my mind to heave then implode.
I turn away from petty love; jealous hate.
Fighting against my resurgent need to explode.
 
The Conservative move against conservation
Eroding our lives, our will to live.
“Preserve Wall Street, Big Business, and the Nation!”
Forgetting we need Mother Earth to survive.

Where was my voice when those decisions were made?
Why did I passively shrug and sigh?
The future is now, and it’s melting away.
Our precious planet, once so vibrant, now dies.
 
Copyright 1995 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
 

"First Love"

Shoulder length hair
          streaked with fairies’ gold
          pixie dust sprinkled across her pert nose
          braces and rubber bands
          long legs reaching almost to her chin
          a ready smile and a contagious laugh
 
A year of friendship
          spent playing hide-n-go-seek
          swimming at Grandma’s
          trips to the lake house at Canyon
          homework marathons
          and a “first date” at the movies—alone 
 
A year as a couple
          buying Ty beanies because she thinks they’re cute
          Valentine’s Day takes weeks and weeks of allowance
          long phone chats
          Alicia Silverstone, Spice Girls, and the Magic Time Machine
          friends forever
 
He whispers
          as night embraces him
          “Mom, she’s the one.”
          “I’ll never love another girl.”
          “She’s different and special.”
          I feel the weight of his adoration
 
Times change gradually
          her legginess turns to curves
          mascara darkens her lashes
          her Tom boyish walk turns to graceful pirouettes
          her need for popularity outstrips him
 
He understands
          his boyish charm keeps trying
          his cherub face beams when she’s near
          his voice becomes husky when she’s on the phone
          she enchants him still
          even when she’s walking away

 
Copyright 1999 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman