Johanna Shapiro, PhD
An ocular stroke
Could it be oracular?
Open your eyes! See!
Health Poems – Family
THE SNAKE
Johanna Shapiro, PhD
Our oldest daughter turns thirteen,
beautiful, athletic
tall and straight
One day she comes home crying:
The nurse at school said
I have scowly-osis
She’s right
Tall and straight
inside her spine grimaces and spits
a malevolent snake
two curves conspire to create
the appearance of flawless beauty
The Gambler
Johanna Shapiro, PhD
My grandfather was born
in Rumania
He came to this country
at the age of two
because his father got himself
involved on the wrong end of
a failed revolution
to oust a despot king
SOMETIMES I WONDER
Johanna Shapiro, PhD
Sometimes I wonder about the doctor
who for a moment held my daughter’s life
in his hands
and then held my grandchild
What did he feel when my son-in-law told him
to put my daughter first?
What were his thoughts when my daughter begged him
to keep her baby safe?
Did he pray for the wisdom of Solomon?
Did he weigh the advantages of cervical massage
versus an IV drip?
Did he feel a tiny bit of love
for this young couple, so afraid, so alone?
LESSONS LEARNED
Johanna Shapiro, PhD
In kindergarten, our daughter
Was a rabbit in reading
Is that good? We wondered
Oh yes, enthused her teacher
The rabbits are adorable
Only later did we learn it meant
She could not read
Could not read?
How was that possible?
How was that possible in our family
Where everyone could read by three or four
And the bright ones could read
The encyclopedia by two – for fun
CARPE DIEM
Johanna Shapiro, PhD
After my husband’s ocular stroke,
We wondered about risk of a “real one.”
“Significantly increased,”
said the busy physician.
“What can we do?”
“Take a baby aspirin –
And live life to the fullest”
We took this prescription to the pharmacist
Who gave us the aspirin
But said we were on our own for the rest
Drowning
Johanna Shapiro, PhD
When my grandmother died
My mother’s grief knew no bounds
It raged and roiled
An angry current
Overrunning its banks
Spilling inarticulate and destructive
From bedroom to living-room
A soggy flood of feeling
Knocking over tables and chairs
The way my grandmother did
When she was drunk
Each one of my mother’s tears
Perfectly transparent
Like a drop of the vodka
My grandmother drank neaty
Straight from the bottle
She hid in the chandelier
Driving with Grandpa
Johanna Shapiro, PhD
After my grandpa stopped
being a big city surgeon
he moved to the Ozarks
and became a country doc
When we visited,
my brother and sister
stayed back to eat pancakes
play dirtball or catch fireflies
After Sextuple Bypass Surgery
Johanna Shapiro, PhD
“You requested a visitation,” the chaplain said,
hovering doubtful and black-garbed beside my bed.
“Wrong room,” I said , not unkindly.
Then noting his collar, added
“I’m old and sick,
not Catholic.”
He looked forlorn
so I said he could stay ,
even offered him my jell-o,
which he ate , by the way.
“I have nightmares,” I mentioned.
“Is it the morphine? ” he questioned.
“Maybe. Still, every night I’m standing
on an empty stage .
The audience has left.
I’m alone. I’m afraid .”
Downstairs My Father is Dying
Johanna Shapiro, PhD
Downstairs my father is dying
Upstairs we are sleeping
It is 4:00 in the morning
A noise below jerks me awake
The death rattle? A call for help?
Heart thudding, I hurry down
the steep stairwell