Three Poems by Alison Hurwitz

 

tether 

 

traffic, and the truck in front of me  

tows a car so loosely that I am 

afraid, at any moment it will come  

unhitched at speed and driverless. 

 

I slow. The fathom of the sky is dervished  

full of gold and crimson, rust, a mosaic made  

by changing leaves.  Each one allows the wind  

to kite and glide and scatter. I take the turn,  

 

then drive along the quiet of a two lane road, edged  

with hummocked grasses, coreopsis, cone flowers  

almost at their season’s end. The house stands out:  

parked cars overflow the margins of the street.  

 

Inside, I’m greeted quietly, shown to where  

they’re sitting, side by side. She’s in a plain white  

summer dress, her hair drawn back. He’s in pajamas,  

brown plaid blanket lined with rust and gold 

 

tucked close around his legs. At intervals,  

they quiver. These two have asked me to renew  

their wedding vows. They don’t have much time  

left. Measured words apportion air between them 

 

like prayer flags strung on silence.  Afterwards,  

she lifts his hand and holds it to her cheek. Her breath 

hitches. Quietly, I offer thanks, retrace my steps, drive home.  

Two weeks pass, and then the message comes: he is gone.  

 

I think of tethers come undone, cone flowers, coreopsis, 

that soft plaid blanket folded neatly on the sofa. I see again the 

spinning leaves, their sheen and brightness as they leave  

the branch behind, then drift away on currents of the air.

 

Cart re:turn  

 

There’s the fancy sneakered man who parks 

at Trader Joe’s and does not adequately push 

his empty shopping cart back into its return,  

but instead abandons it, haphazardly diagonal,  

estranged from all its fellows, listing awkwardly.  

I’ve seen it all before but now I’m pressed for time  

and peeved, so snark is in ascendancy. I transform  

to grand inquisitor, ascribing to him every petty sin:  

he clearly does not shut his cabinets or dishwasher, click  

the door latch fast or tuck his t-shirts into drawers to keep  

them flat. In fact, he left them catching on the wooden rim,  

oblivious to his own dresser’s lack of closure. He can’t be 

bothered into bringing his own bags, recycling his plastics  

or composting-in fact, he drives a gas guzzler. Yet look: 

he hurries back to where he’s parked his SUV, opening  

his wasteful one-time bag to offer an old women  

waiting, patient in the car, the topmost  

chocolate peanut butter cup.

Mirror	Mirror
Obsessed cheekbone addict, eyebrow queen assesses   mirror,	Mirror assesses queen: eyebrow addict, cheekbone obsessed,
snow falling into polished syllables, glass in her reflecting:	reflecting her in glass syllables, polished into falling snow.
fair synonyms skin, sculpted pale. Read, this makes sense.	Sense makes this read pale, sculpted skin synonyms fair;
Words slant, lines scripted. Is she right? Is she just? Is she?	She is just. She is right. She is scripted lines- slant words,
Reflection, the story retold. Storm of eye, her need spinning	spinning need: her eye of storm. Retold story, the reflection
stab through midnight. Desire, that delving need. We	we need, delving that desire. Midnight through stab
read blood-riven words, the worthy woodsman ordered	ordered, woodsman worthy, the words riven blood. Read
to sacrifice a boar, thrust in dripping inkwell heart.	heart inkwell, dripping in thrust. Boar a sacrifice to
Walk long past betrayal, past courage. Decipher, tangle	tangle, decipher courage past betrayal, past long walk.
pulse of forest, a maze into vanished path, threshold	Threshold: path vanished into maze, a forest of pulse.
as fair as face that only knows uncanny shadow, moon.	Moon shadow, uncanny, knows only that face as fair as
Incantation: unseen. Change can paper into scripted spells,	spells scripted into paper can change unseen incantation.
the dropped swallowed-apple sleep. Twisted, enter	Enter twisted sleep, swallowed apple dropped, the
Coda. Mirror blurring, retelling story: familiar	familiar story retelling, blurring mirror. Coda

Alison Hurwitz is a former cellist and dancer who now finds music in language. Her work was nominated for Best of the Net in 2023 and 2024. Alison is the founder/host of the monthly online reading, Well-Versed Words. Widely published, her work is forthcoming in Sky Island Journal, Rust & Moth, and Thimble Literary Magazine. When not writing, Alison officiates weddings and memorial services, takes singing lessons, walks in the woods with her family, and dances in her kitchen. Find her at alisonhurwitz.com