When I was ten, he forgot me at the butcher, inevitably careless.
I met strangers’ eyes with the rapture of recognition, whether man
or teenager, until proven wrong. Eventually, a policeman took my
hand, cradling our soup bones with unremitting care — like a father
in training. Afterwards, the stench of bloody sawdust always
reminded me of abandonment. I ate less and less, leaving
my meals and my solidity behind, slowly becoming a ghost. The me
who was ten years old grew another self who appeared at
will, an impostor rehearsing departure, thumbing rides at bus-stops or rest-stops.
Poem by LindaAnn LoSchiavo
Image by Adam Strong
Native New Yorker LindaAnn LoSchiavo, a four time nominee for The Pushcart Prize, has also been nominated for Best of the Net, the Rhysling Award, and Dwarf Stars.
She is a member of SFPA, The British Fantasy Society, and The Dramatists Guild. Elgin Award winner “A Route Obscure and Lonely,” “Women Who Were Warned,” Firecracker Award, Balcones Poetry Prize, Quill and Ink, Paterson Poetry Prize,and IPPY Award nominee “Messengers of the Macabre” [co-written with David Davies], “Apprenticed to the Night” [UniVerse, 2023], and “Felones de Se: Poems about Suicide” [Ukiyoto Publishing, 2023] are her latest poetry titles. In 2023, her poetry placed as a finalist in Thirty West Publishing’s “Fresh Start Contest” and in the 8th annual Stephen DiBiase contest.- links -Twitter: @Mae_Westside
LindaAnnLiterary: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCHm1NZIlTZybLTFA44wwdfg
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One reply on “Golden Shovel”
[…] poem, “Golden Shovel: Tenbrific”, Backwards Trajectory, June 30, 2023, https://backwardstrajectory.com/2023/06/30/golden-shovel/ […]
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