Karen Benke

April 20, 2020

“After the Affair” by Karen BenkePosted by

Karen Benke

AFTER THE AFFAIR

Each day he left our shallow bed at sunrise.
All that remained: the black snake lie.
Yes, he remembered his watch, the cream for his coffee.
He unloaded the dishwasher, carried the recycling to the curb.
How can you say I’m not here for you?
The house creaked quiet.
The woman who was me curled under the stiff sheet of another day.
His car accelerated up the driveway.
On my side of the whale-huge bed, the woman remained.
Jays squawked. The cat cried for food.
The child watched another cartoon.
Walking to meet the carpool, I explained
1+2=3. And two plus one also equals three.
The child held my hand. Don’t cry, Mommy.
Afterward, I kept my eyes open to see underneath
the lies the woman who was me could no longer keep—
The bite reached flesh, bone, heart, head.

—from Rattle #67, Spring 2020
Students of Kim Addonizio

__________

Karen Benke: “I studied with Kim Addonizio in 1993 while pursuing my master’s degree at the University of San Francisco. Kim is generous, tender, tough, and accurate with her honesty. She made a better poet out of me by her example, by all the detailed ways she shows up to see and capture the world’s heartbreak and grit. She taught me how to rigorously question if what is being included in the container of a poem is truly necessary. As I edit, I can still hear her say, ‘Here’s a needless piece of information.’” (web)

Rattle Logo

June 13, 2012

“Joy Ride” by Karen BenkePosted by

Karen Benke

JOY RIDE

I tell my son I wish I didn’t have to go to work today
and he says he wishes he didn’t have to go to school.
He’s tired of darkening in right answer bubbles.
I ask what we’d do if we could play hooky and he says
we’d go through the tunnel and pick up Nana Friday,
wondering if people who died can come too.
You know, like Grandpa Don and Auntie Toots?

So we pile into the VW and veer over the center line
of what reality doesn’t allow. I accelerate past the turn off
to his school, my father cautioning me to slow down
while my aunt sings a Lou Rawls song she knew.
Traveling an unnamed highway of light,
no longer concerned about getting anywhere on time,
we pass around baggies of sliced apples and almonds,
my father nodding his handsome face at the grandson
he never knew who wants details about where he’s been.
So I lean in to listen—Oh, pretty much everywhere, Angel,
he assures, explaining there aren’t any tests or distance
where he is now. You just love who you love.
And that’s the right answer to everything.

—from Rattle #36, Winter 2011
Tribute to Buddhist Poets

Rattle Logo