Tobi Alfier

The Blind Woman and the Caregiver

He touches her with a halting softness,
as if dressing a wound. In fact, he’s doing
exactly that, for the woman in a motley
array of brightly colored dressing gowns.

All she wanted was to be the girl in silk taffeta
in a timeless field of wildflowers.
Now she can’t even see out her windows
much less the flowers she’s wearing.

She’s never certain what he makes of her
and what he makes of her for visitors.
He’s the photographer and she’s the darkroom
—he’s in charge and she has to trust him.

By her bed, prescription bottle
after prescription bottle, like film canisters
arrayed like votives in the church just a block away.
She hasn’t been there in years but she remembers.

He tells her shadows honeycomb the lawn
and birds are making a family under the eaves.
Soon the night will begin to enfold without her—
all the light that matters is in someone else’s room.

Blind Date 1974

She was an interesting girl—
blue harlequin glasses
brown Levi cords—lowriders,
wallabees,
hair to her waist
and shy. So shy.

He was the interesting opposite—
military posture,
military hair, one inch
longer than flat,
shiny black shoes, Patagonia
jacket, more stylish than she was.

He took her to a hockey game.
She didn’t know anything
about hockey. He
bought her a beer.
She usually drank wine.

She was cold.
He gave her his jacket.
She sat on her hair
he helped her get free.
That was the most they touched
on this date. They talked a little more—

she didn’t understand hockey,
she only knew about gymnastics—
she saw Kathy Rigby once,
and Olga Korbut shook her hand
at the airport. He tried to look interested,
she tried not to fall asleep.

The blind date had no happy ending.
Honestly, neither one of us remembered
who’d set them up at all.

Pantoum Gone Wrong

I will take a vodka tonic and some chips
please tell me that my smile lights up the sky
make me blush and make me think of you
even if tomorrow, I’ll be asking myself why
and kicking myself for being so stupid

I will know you are lying but believe you anyway
I will only halfway question your motives and sincerity
wearing my heart with longing for our conversations
I will look for you and I will find you.

It makes me want to taunt you and test you
all the time my leg inching closer to yours
I flirt with an eye to mapping your limitations
my agenda is one of maximum sensations - I
don’t know if you have an agenda

A kiss in the old days was a ticket to freedom
now most encounters lead to a chasm of
disappointment and emptiness
Lord knows, I carry my own share of baggage
disheveled and dangerous I order another drink

Please find me beautiful, I have a passion for you
make me blush and make me think of you fondly, but
Lord knows, I carry my own share of baggage
so I will settle for vodka tonic and chips.

Previously published by Hot Metal Press in 2006

 

Tobi Alfier’s credits include Arkansas Review, The American Journal of Poetry, Cholla Needles, Gargoyle, James Dickey Review, KGB Bar Lit Mag, Louisiana Literature, Permafrost, Washington Square Review, and War, Literature and the Arts.  She is co-editor of San Pedro River Review (www.bluehorsepress.com).