Fran Abrams
Fran Abrams’ poems have been published online and in print in The American Journal of Poetry, The Raven’s Perch, Gargoyle, and many other journals, and in over a dozen anthologies. In 2019, she read at Houston (TX) Poetry Fest and at DiVerse Gaithersburg (MD) Poetry Series. In December 2021, she won the Washington Writers Publishing House Winter Poetry Prize. Her autobiographical book titled “I Rode the Second Wave: A Feminist Memoir,” (Atmosphere Press) was released in November 2022. Her chapbook, “The Poet Who Loves Pythagoras,” (Finishing Line Press) will be released in April 2023. Please visit franabramspoetry.com for more.
Comments by Editor Sharon Waller Knutson
I had never read any Fran Abrams poems until a mutual friend of ours told her that I was looking for narrative poems. The minute I read her poems I knew she was a born storyteller and I could tell being a narrative poet wasn’t all we had in common. We were born in the same decade so she sees life from the same lens as all we seasoned poets do. Not in black and white, but color. I’m proud to publish these poems by Fran.,
Impossible to keep a landscape in your head.
Rita Dove, “Voiceover,” from Playlist for the Apocalypse: Poems
I cannot remember all the landscapes
from more than seven decades of my life.
I remember lush foliage in Hawaii
pressed against gray memories of volcanic lava.
I ask those scenes to move
closer together to make space
for more recent images—in Paris,
the Notre Dame Cathedral before it burned.
Historic streets in Brussels seemingly
sculpted completely of hills.
In Maine, waves crashing on rocks.
Rolling desert in Israel.
For accents of color, I insert fireworks
at the Washington Monument,
pink and orange flowers
in the Puerto Rican rainforest.
And, long ago, I remember Wyoming
on my fourteenth birthday when I rode
a horse for the first time and understood
the vastness of the sky.
To Be a Child Again
Three-year-old points
her toy flashlight like a wand
emitting green light.
Skipping through the house,
she turns stuffed animals green,
kitchen cabinets green,
bedroom walls green,
her father’s arm green.
Light disappears. A click
and nothing happens.
The battery’s all used up,
her mother tells her.
Nooo, she shrieks, I want my green light.
Her father replies, And I wish horses could fly.
She’s quiet for a moment.
Guess what, she announces,
My Little Pony® can fly.
Dancing to a new source of joy.
she’s off on her next adventure,
toy flashlight forgotten.
Peekaboo
Turn around in JC Penney’s and your toddler
has become invisible. Amanda, you call out.
Amanda, where are you?
And when there is no reply, your heart stops
for a moment and your stomach clenches.
Just then, a small face appears between clothes
hanging on a nearby rack. “Peekaboo,”
she says giggling. “I’m playing hide and seek.”
Who can explain to a three-year-old
the difference between a game and a story
destined for the evening news?
Nothing Happens at Brewster and Wood
No flowers or teddy bears are stacked
at this crosswalk, no memorials leaning on lampposts
to commemorate victims of crashes or cars that failed
to stop in time. Nothing ever happens here.
No pedestrians are struck by taxi or bus.
No children’s balls roll into the street
with children giving chase, nor do any dogs
run loose in this crosswalk.
There is a crossing guard in a bright yellow vest
before and after school hours to direct traffic to halt
while students stride across the street staring at their phones.
And the guard makes eye contact with drivers
distracted by their own children telling stories
of what happened on the playground that day.
Brewster and Wood should not be your destination
if you’re looking for shock and disarray.
Calendar Confusion
She’s pacing outside the hair salon
on a busy road. No one is inside.
No lights are on. Does she have the wrong
day? Wrong time? She thought sure
she had an appointment.
Is everyone who drives by wondering
about this crazy woman walking back
and forth alongside the glass front of
an unremarkable shop? Is she breaking
any laws loitering here?
The door of the salon opens
and a voice calls out to her,
“Susan, I’m so sorry. I had car trouble
this morning. I apologize for being late.
Thank you for waiting for me.”
Her pounding heart begins to slow.
She realizes—nothing happened here.
She will get her hair cut and colored
and that is all that will be memorable
What's remarkable here is how these zero in on small moments of joy or panic, of disequilibrium....and recovery. So very well done!
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