a poetry e-zine










Connie Beresin

The Doctor Said


I went numb.

Limb for life.

Not sure I heard what I heard.


you sat straight up

slowly moving your head in agreement.

Straight up, staring ahead,

bodies leaning into each other,

we shook like a single trunk.

Darkness crept through us,

chill and terror.

Then humor:

You still had the leg with the artificial knee

(just two years old) not a waste of money.

How tough is hopping at 76?

If the store would sell singles instead of pairs

you could save on shoes.

You wouldn’t be bowlegged anymore.

And sex, how does that work?

On we went,

inventing ways to laugh

at what it took to live.





No More


She walks the beach in no more than a wrap.

Moonlight, iridescent nacre.

Gulls and skimmers flown.

Ghost crabs deep in their holes.

Moon jellies swarm no more.

Decades earlier she left the imprint of her body

in the sand with his. She searches. Fragments

she’d hoped to find do not take shape.



Connie Beresin retired in 2006 after thirty years in social services. She has had poems published in CC & D, Concise Delight, Edison Literary Review (Fall 2012), Kaleidoscope, Kotopress Loss Journal, Mad Poets Review, MARGIE, Turks Head Review, and Voices de la Luna. She lives in Haverford, PA, with her husband, and enjoys and encourages the reading of poetry by her thirteen grandchildren and one "great."

Copyright 2012  Chantarelle's Notebook