May 23, 2016

Robin Silbergleid

MALIGNANT

In the third hour in the family surgical waiting area
my brother asks if I’m going to write a book about our
mother’s cancer, and I shrug because there’s not much

to say about the lump or the MRI with the blue dye
snaking toward her lymph nodes or the medical grade
saran wrap and sports bra the surgeon called a “binder,”

which, when she’s home later, we’ll chip away at, and I
won’t point out the irony of her saying it’s “killing” her
to wear it, because all that is still far away from the room

where we sit with our books and technologies, with
other waiting families and boxes of Kleenex, and I know
he’s just making small talk, which is better than our sister

mumbling to herself or anyone who will listen, right now
prattling on about the miracle of split screens on her laptop,
but the truth is I’m not sure what it means to call us family

beyond this shared concern and a smidge of DNA, each of us
like planets orbiting the same sun but never making
real contact, which is reserved instead for the ones we choose

to love—like his wife, whose wedding dress cost more than
my bathroom, at home with her feet propped up, days from
giving birth and waiting for the cupcake he bought her

at the café down the hall—but I can’t tell him any of this,
especially not today, because it’s clear as malignant
cells under a microscope we don’t know each other at all.

from Rattle #51, Spring 2016
Tribute to Feminist Poets

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__________

Robin Silbergleid: “I’ve identified as a feminist since I was about eighteen and read Chris Weedon’s Feminist Practice and Poststructuralist Theory as an undergrad. My poetry often addresses subjects of gender, alternative families, the female body, and reproduction. I’ve had the occasion recently to read my work to and host workshops for other women who have struggled with infertility and pregnancy loss, which, at its best, feels like a powerful, woman-centered and feminist connection. Although these poems aren’t the best illustration of this principle, I see much of my work as an instance of feminist activism.” (website)

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April 23, 2014

Robin Silbergleid

AN OPEN LETTER TO OUR SPERM DONOR

Our daughter looks like me
      people say, the architecture
of her eyebrows and pointed stare.
      But in the photograph of you
at thirteen months: our baby’s
      toothless grin after she’s grabbed
the cat by the tail. Every child
      you said needs a mother who reads
and each night I let her suck
      thick cardboard illustrations,
Big Red Barn and Goodnight Moon,
      while I balance her on my lap.
If you lived with us, you
      would know this. Perhaps
you would bring me a cup of tea
      while I nurse her on the couch,
a book of poems open nearby.
      Sometimes I wonder if you wonder
about us, when you’re at work
      in the laboratory or when
you’re feeding your new son a bottle.
      The stories of our children
are woven together. The tapestry
      couldn’t be more beautiful, filled
with these widening holes.

from Rattle #41, Fall 2013
Tribute to Single Parent Poets

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__________

Robin Silbergleid: “I live in East Lansing, Michigan, where I write, teach, and raise my two children. This poem comes from my manuscript The Baby Book, which deals with infertility treatment and becoming a single mother by choice.”

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