Breath & Shadow

POETRY

LINDA A. CRONIN

What I Don't Know

I don't know why I feel ashamed
when you see me sitting in the wheelchair
for the first time. Why I want to vanish
like a mark erased from the page. I don't
know why when I see you cradling your child,
I feel ashamed I can't dress or care for myself
or the child I don't have and never will.
I don't know why shame swells in my chest
like a wave sweeps onto the shore stealing
everything in its path when my joints crumble
and my bones crack and break, landing me
in the hospital again. Yes, I am always sick,
aren't I? You're just too polite to say it. I don't
know why shame accosts me every time I trail
food down my shirt or drop a drink, the smooth
red wine flowing across the tablecloth
like an unstoppable flood. I don't know
why shame refuses to fade, haunts me,
rises up when I least expect it and insists
I recognize it for what it is.

Linda A. Cronin, a poet and fiction writer, has recently finished her first collection of poems, Dream Bones, and is at work on a second. Her work has appeared in literary magazines such as The Paterson Literary Review, Breath & Shadow, The Journal of New Jersey Poets, Kaleidoscope, The Healing Muse, Rattle, and LIPS.

Thank you, sponsors of this poem!
Amanda Berry
Kathleen Cronin
Mary Cronin
Vera Gelvin
Jim Gwyn
Gloria Healy
Chris Kuell
Diane Lockward
Betty Marchitti
Michelle Meade
Frank Niccoletti
Anonymous