1359: Spilled Milk | Willa Schneberg
"Spilled Milk"
Willa Schneberg
I can still hear the clink
of the milk bottles he brought home
10:00 in the morning after he made
his deliveries for Bordens.
Thirty-five years, they never
gave him off a Jewish holiday.
The goy he asked to do his shift
on Yom Kippur refused and
the next day he dropped dead.
They called it a Jewish curse.
Then they stepped all over each other
to work for him.
What could I do after his stroke?
I put him in a nursing home.
He knows me, but can't talk anymore.
Fifty years we lived together
he would never weep in front of me.
Now all the time his eyes are tearing,
but there is no more Morris to cry.
Lovemaking wasn't so easy between us
in the early years. We both felt guilty.
We thought we weren't supposed to enjoy
it and I was always worried
about becoming pregnant.
Later on we worried the children would hear.
But after they grew up and moved out
and I couldn't bear anymore
we began to have fun.
It wasn't always before going to sleep either.
Sometimes during breakfast
he would say, Let's go
and roll his eyes up to the bedroom.
Luba, he would say, I'll help you
take out the hairpins.
On this day in...
2010: "For Jane: With All the Love I Had, Which Was Not Enough" by Charles Bukowski
2009: "Letter To The Woman Who Stopped Writing Me Back" by Jeffrey McDaniel
2008: "Boot Theory" by Richard Siken
2007: Weekend, no poem
A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river/but then he’s still left/with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away/ but then he’s still left with his hands.
Willa Schneberg
I can still hear the clink
of the milk bottles he brought home
10:00 in the morning after he made
his deliveries for Bordens.
Thirty-five years, they never
gave him off a Jewish holiday.
The goy he asked to do his shift
on Yom Kippur refused and
the next day he dropped dead.
They called it a Jewish curse.
Then they stepped all over each other
to work for him.
What could I do after his stroke?
I put him in a nursing home.
He knows me, but can't talk anymore.
Fifty years we lived together
he would never weep in front of me.
Now all the time his eyes are tearing,
but there is no more Morris to cry.
Lovemaking wasn't so easy between us
in the early years. We both felt guilty.
We thought we weren't supposed to enjoy
it and I was always worried
about becoming pregnant.
Later on we worried the children would hear.
But after they grew up and moved out
and I couldn't bear anymore
we began to have fun.
It wasn't always before going to sleep either.
Sometimes during breakfast
he would say, Let's go
and roll his eyes up to the bedroom.
Luba, he would say, I'll help you
take out the hairpins.
On this day in...
2010: "For Jane: With All the Love I Had, Which Was Not Enough" by Charles Bukowski
2009: "Letter To The Woman Who Stopped Writing Me Back" by Jeffrey McDaniel
2008: "Boot Theory" by Richard Siken
2007: Weekend, no poem
A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river/but then he’s still left/with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away/ but then he’s still left with his hands.