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Apple by Tom Romero
"APPLE" copyright 2006 by TOM ROMERO

Naming

A poem by Marian Kaplun Shapiro

Apple! He tastes the syllables
again, hearing red, green,
smelling sweet with sweet white juice.
Wordless, his one-year-old fingers
punctuate the air, towards
the refrigerator. Hah!
(There! In there!)

Wanderers in the Museum of
Antiquities we find ourselves attended
by the ancient Buddhas of Tibet,
by way of China. Gazing down they watch
kindly over us, the unenlightened.
We are tutored by the bodhisattvas,
humble heroes whose names we can't pronounce.
Gladly they waited here on earth, postponing
Nirvana for the sake of those who needed
them. For us. Patience beyond patience.
Blessing beyond blessing. Names beyond names.

In the beginning was the Word

                 And the Word,

infinite         unspoken         unspeakable
           rises,
                      rises,
                                  a transparent
helium
                      balloon
                                                a
                                                          coda of
            ethereal
                                    echoes

just                 out of reach
                                                        disappearing
like fog                         at sunrise.

                Truth?                                  

                                                  or mirage?

                                                                   Who are you

        God, Jehovah, Supreme Being, Almighty, Everlasting, Eternal, King of Kings, Creator,
        Yahveh, Adonai, Allah, Buddha, the Atman, Brahma, Goddess. The Spirit. The Light.
        The Nameless One.


                                                      I am that I am,

                                             wearing a necklace of old Greek
                                             coins, silver full moons
                                             against a dark blouse sky. My newest
                                             grandson, five months into life,
                                             leans into his future, fingers
                                             already expert at the grab. Ah
                                             GAH! he shouts. (I want it!)


Originally published in Lotus Blooms, 2004; Poetic Voices Without Boarders, Gival Press Anthology, 2005

Copyright 2006 by Marian Kaplun Shapiro

divider

Marian Kaplun ShapiroMarian writes:
There I was, captive wife at one of those banquets of endless speeches welcoming or honoring people I didn't know. Looking for anything of interest to keep me awake I gazed upward—and there, looking down from every wall of the large converted basement museum room were Buddhas and Botthisatvas, of every sort and century, their eyes gazing out in tranquil empathy. At that moment, on scraps of paper in my evening bag, the first lines of this poem took their first breaths.

Born in 1939 in the Bronx, Marian Kaplun Shapiro practices as a psychologist and poet in Lexington, Massachusetts. The author of Second Childhood (Norton, 1988) and many professional articles, she returned to writing poetry five years ago. Her poems have appeared in forty-three journals and three anthologies, and have won five first prizes and six other prizes. Her chapbook, Parenthesis, appears on the website of Language and Culture: www.languageandculture.net, and she can be reached via email at: mkshapiro@rcn.com.

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