Title: In Which the Singer Becomes a Nurse White coat thrown over a jade polyester dress, the singer graduates from nursing school. She stands with a friend, a woman from the Gambia, the classmate she sang hymns with at a blind man’s bedside. The singer’s smile is fixed, the way it was when we worked together, when we sat at desks, answered phones, pounded out memos on the last typewriters, when we blow-dried our pixie cuts, ironed our blouses, dabbed clear polish on the runs in our stockings. I wonder if she knew what she was getting into, working at the center of this pandemic in the Bronx where suiting up means reusing masks and gowns, wearing plastic shields and garbage bags, laundering latex gloves. Elsewhere in the city doctors in private practice die from the virus; workers who hand out the masks, who hand out the trays die from the virus. Maybe this is the wonder. The singer gets up before dawn and comes home in the dark, climbing four flights of stairs as if she were still Sister Blanche the nobleman’s daughter who ascends to the scaffold, bare-headed, wearing white in the last scene of Dialogues of the Carmelites. This time, the singer finds her way to her upright piano, to sing again. Copyright 2020 by Marianne Szlyk
Bio:
Marianne Szlyk is a poet from Rockville, MD these days. Her poems have appeared in of/with, bird’s thumb, Cactifur, Mad Swirl, Setu, Solidago, Ramingo’s Porch, Bourgeon, Bradlaugh’s Finger, the Loch Raven Review, Epiphanies and Late Realizations of Love, and Resurrection of a Sunflower, an anthology of work responding to Vincent Van Gogh’s art. Her full-length book, On the Other Side of the Window, is now available from Pski’s Porch and Amazon. Recently she has revived her blog-zine The Song Is… as a summer-only publication: http://thesongis.blogspot.com
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This very personal poem asks the question, “I wonder if she knew what she was getting into?”
And I suppose if we did, we might run, but this friend kept choosing to help others as she had with her singing, only now it is her life that she offers. Thank you for writing about her, Marianne. I’m glad she went home and could sing.
Engaging story poem. This ropes me in from start to finish with strong chronology and purpose. If ever there was a time for her to draw on the music in her soul, it is now.