Again, I See the Dawn
Rochelle Jewel Shapiro
of my childhood when women stood
lonely in Edward Hopper windows,
still in their full slips, or already
in flowered housecoats.
They took in these moments
after their husbands left for work
and before their children woke up
clamoring for those tiny boxes of cereal,
perforated for easy opening,
the milk poured
right into the boxes’ wax paper lining,
a miracle--
only a spoon to wash.
Soon the laundryman would deliver
the wet wash and each side window
opened, rusted pullies creaking
as clothes were clothespinned
to ropes that spanned alleyways in arcs.
The women shopped wearing one
of their three weekday dresses,
stockings rolled over rubber bands
just below the knees.
Tasks, tasks, tasks, then dusk
when front windows opened
again and women leaned out,
shouting down to their children
Get upstairs
in Italian, in Greek, in Yiddish,
in German, in brogues, in dialects.
But at dawn, all spoke silence.
Rochelle Jewel Shapiro
of my childhood when women stood
lonely in Edward Hopper windows,
still in their full slips, or already
in flowered housecoats.
They took in these moments
after their husbands left for work
and before their children woke up
clamoring for those tiny boxes of cereal,
perforated for easy opening,
the milk poured
right into the boxes’ wax paper lining,
a miracle--
only a spoon to wash.
Soon the laundryman would deliver
the wet wash and each side window
opened, rusted pullies creaking
as clothes were clothespinned
to ropes that spanned alleyways in arcs.
The women shopped wearing one
of their three weekday dresses,
stockings rolled over rubber bands
just below the knees.
Tasks, tasks, tasks, then dusk
when front windows opened
again and women leaned out,
shouting down to their children
Get upstairs
in Italian, in Greek, in Yiddish,
in German, in brogues, in dialects.
But at dawn, all spoke silence.
