“The Street of the Cellist” by Geri Rosenzweig

Geri Rosenzweig, RN


for Dan

When at last
you find the street of the cellist,
may the dread
that accompanied you
fall by the way,
may the yellow hive
of her window direct you
to the garden
where the russet tint
of alders keep
for all time her three
stone sundials in their shade.
Don’t worry
if the thumbprint
of oil placed
on your forehead trembles
at the pallor of her hair,
in the layered
softness of snow falling
on your shoulders,
in the hum of zero
sounding your arrival,
listen for notes
drawn slow from the tattered
libretto of your life.

from Rattle #28, Winter 2007
Tribute to Nurses


Geri Rosenzweig, RN: “I had a short term memory problem back in the days when such defects were only guessed at. Much to the amazement of friends and teachers, I could memorize poems without difficulty and recite them back in class. I believe it was the pleasure my brain took in the cadence, the music, the lilt of language when I was a child that makes me write poems, plus the freedom I feel when writing. For me, poetry is the only way I make sense of this life.”

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