"Something to Prove"

  

unnatural competition
sibling rivalries created and nurtured
by narcissistic manipulations
the alcoholic mother and enabling father
doling out love to the winners
the challenge evolves
 to plastic wives and drunken children
awards for misogyny and adultery
applause for cheats
 and deceits
victory gained
by zealous clannish unity
that punishes the different drummer
with ostracism and disdain
darkness shadows each generation
with something to prove

 

Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman  

"Plans and More Plans"

  

overthinking
list making
best case scenarios
worst possible tragedies imagined
journaling predictions for infinite tomorrows
fluctuating daily between certainty and self-doubt
juggling multiple dependent  lives with limited reserves
 
nurturing
visions dreamt
viewpoints expanded outward
selflessly sheltering the weakest
returning to ritual’s comforting grace
strengthening spirit by dancing with fire
embracing obligations with the tenacity of hope

 

Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

 

 

"Isolation Response"

 

            I woke up in the middle of the night with a slight headache and a matching echo of discomfort in my throat. Nothing bad–something I would’ve ignored in the past. With mental sirens sounding loudly, my new response went into hyper speed. Opening the medicine cabinet, I grabbed Mucinex DM and quickly downed a tablet. Scooping up a new box of Vicks and my thermometer I headed to the family room to set up a sleeping area that removed me from the rest of our household. I returned to the bathroom long enough to spray surfaces with Lysol. With my warmest robe and pillows snuck from the bed, I shifted quietly into the other room. In the darkness, I snuck into the kitchen to add to my disinfectant arsenal: more Lysol spray and hand sanitizer. I grabbed a new mask and added two bottles of water, placing everything on the table next to the couch.

            I fell back asleep easily, but upon waking I realized that our household, like many others, no longer can ignore a nighttime onset of a stuffed nose or slight fever. With both the flu and COVID on the rise, symptoms I ignored in the past become warnings to medicate and isolate as soon as possible. I woke up before dawn and found that a normal temperature raised my spirits. The slight headache and sore throat remained as a shadow of the night before. I drank a bottle of water and settled back into sleep.

            For the rest of the day, I wore a mask around my family when they came in to the room. I stayed snoozing on the couch watching disaster movies. I took a second dose of medication even though my symptoms were gone. Waking up this morning with my usual energy level, I’m thankful that whatever ailed me passed within a few hours once a tablet hit my system.

 

Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Silver Lining?”

 

            Our project to remove the pond from the back yard continued with me channeling my “ant” powers. I started by lugging the large flagstones, purchase many years ago and no longer available, over to extend the path from under our Live Oak to our side gate. This gate only opened in one direction, but with carefully placing various flat rocks under its swing, it now moves both ways. That process took four hours one morning as I carefully assembled the puzzle one piece at a time. Gravel, reclaimed from the pond’s interior, added a finished touch to the area.

            The next part of the removal, getting the pond from the ground itself, took my husband’s strength. We decided to break it down into pieces and put back into the hollow to help with filler. At the moment, we’ve dumped three trash cans of leaves from the front yard and another four cans of dead Purple Heart mush. I stomp on the area after each load. Eventually, we’ll top it all with soil and smooth it out. That won’t happen until we’ve done the final rodent proofing along the back wall.

            Yesterday, we moved the fairy statue to the front yard. Four wheelbarrows of rocks allowed us to ring it in an eight that includes the bird bath purchased last summer. Once we’re through our seasonal freezes, I’ll start selecting flowers for this new area.

            With these changes, I try to focus on the silver linings. My front yard, damaged by years of freezes and droughts, will now display one of my favorite statues. Its new location means I’ll cover the area with different types of flowers than the ones out back. The pond, tucked out back for my personal pleasure all of these years, now shifts some of its features into the front for everyone to enjoy.

            We haven’t decided exactly what to do with the area opened up with the pond gone. At the moment, it’s a “maybe this” or “possibly that” flow of creative ideas. Those possibilities, too, provide silver linings for me as we move into this unpredictable year.

 

Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman    

"Harper Lee and Me"

hour after hour, day after day, year after year    
the cadence of her words     
rose and fell in my classroom  

in Jean Louise’s coveralls  

walking in someone else’s skin   
I meandered through Maycomb’s streets  
treasuring two soap dolls, a broken watch and chain, a pair of 
    good-luck pennies
I led my students  
into that courtroom  
and stood in respect  

and I wept     

every single time  

hour after hour, day after day, year after year  
the cadence of her words  
rose and fell in my classroom  

“What would Atticus do?”  

wove into my discussions  
became a refrain   
became ingrained into who I am as a daughter, as a wife, as a 
                mother  
defined my humanity—   
my Gestalt 
I am a part of all I have met   

and so I wept   

every single time  

hour after hour, day after day, year after year  

the cadence of her words  
rose and fell in my life   

until I became the writer

with a draft of a novel in my desk 
and another tucked upon a closet shelf     
the lives I created guided by conscience      
renderings of myself in stark black and white  
so I understand a watchman  
and crossing time to set things right  

and I wept  

once again  

Copyright 2015 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman