Sample Poems by Eve Lyons

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Tisha B'Av, 5756

Two thousand years ago we prayed together
under constant threat from the Romans.
Before them, the Greeks, and before
them, the Assyrians.
Today we fear the car accident
on our way to synagogue,
or that when they are done
burning black churches
we will be next.
Or our fear comes from
inside these stained-glass windows,
these staunch-backed pews.
We fear the rabbi's condemnation
of our desires.
We fear judgment by people
we hoped would be allies,
shrunk down to a tinier minority.
This congregation welcomes gay couples,
pushes out interfaith ones.
This congregation welcomes interfaith couples,
pushes out those who want more ritual.
Two thousand years ago
the Second glorious Temple
loomed in our peripheral hindsight
We cursed ourselves bitterly
for fighting amongst ourselves,
vowing "never again."

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One of Those Days

Ever have one of those days
when the Apocalypse seemed imminent?
Two trains collide, trapping one driver
until her death. A cop opens fire
on a man in Boston Common
who had only a fake gun on him.
A crane collapses in New York City
killing several people.
You wonder what will happen tomorrow.
The Spurs won't still be in the playoffs,
a bigger dark shadow than it should be.
Will the Red Sox ever win on the road again?
Will the sun be shining?
Will your dinner guests back out
this week as well?
Will the tests be benign,
will more treatment be needed?
So much uncertainty.
So much tragedy.
Makes you feel fragile.
Makes you feel needy.
Makes you feel blessed.

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Broken

Sitting in my office, with my degree,
oil pastels, poetry anthologies,
drums I?ve thrifted.
Protected but trapped
while the industry twists around me.
Churning out medications and patients,
leaving them scattered like
a devastated trailer park.
Forcing them into a list
of behavioral criteria in the DSM.

Art is not the standard operating procedure here.
Instead, we'll take a fifteen year old black girl
who has been bounced from family member
to family member, who has lost her hearing
without knowing how, who believes
meeting with a therapist means she is stupid.
We'll use the Weschler intelligence test,
an outcome measure designed by insurance companies
to decide how she will fit into this structure.

I stare at the pharmacological reps and psychologists,
demanding that they show me
which cognitive-behavioral technique
will help the 18 year old boy
who just came out
only to be raped by two men
who were supposed to be friends.
Isolation of affect: the ability to talk about trauma
without any emotional expression.
It is a survival skill in this system
that violates us over and over again.

There are days when I feel useless
against the tornado
that sends my paycheck every month.
Cyclones are deceptive,
I learned that in Texas,
which has more of them,
and deadlier ones,
than any other state.
You could watch one windstorm
wipe out your neighbors
down the street.
It will destroy you.
It already has.

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Class difference

The white man with a red face
healthy, well-fed love handles
talking about the housing crisis in Boston.

"You can?t just give things away,?"
he tells his panty-hosed companion.
Why not? I want to scream at him,

what the hell do you know about a housing crisis?
"I used to live in low to moderate
income housing," he says,

as if it is a badge of honor
entitling him to an opinion on anything.
What the hell do you know

about budgeting to make bills
still having enough to eat?
About not wanting to have kids

because of the fear of not being
able to support them?
About feeling there is no room

For extras, like movies, CDs, poetry,
even though they are what keep you going.
But I don?t say anything.

I am out of place here.
I am the poor cousin in a sea
of lawyers, doctors, and business owners,

struggling to make rent
while the others worry
about being able to afford their boat.