Author Archives: Risa Denenberg

Tuesday Morning Poem

I first saw cancer  I first saw cancer in winter, rocking gently as if to mollify a small child by keening a lullaby. She murmured a promise— a truss of blossoms. After a chill, in the thaw of spring, wisps … Continue reading

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Tuesday Morning Poem

I got your email You threw your past away to have kids. I squandered some of mine too, but for other reasons. The kids did not need you to erase your past, erase your first wife, erase me. The wife … Continue reading

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Sunday Morning Mourning

It’s too much. What could I say that even touches what I feel about these school shooting. About closing in on the impending cliff that humanity’s future wobbles upon. Again. Emotional and intellectual resistance seems not enough. How is it … Continue reading

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Tuesday Morning Poem

The Chronically Well queue at my exam room, hoping for a visitation. They don’t feel well, but that’s another matter. They don’t yet know what it is to be ill. If they ask me, which seldom happens, I recommend reading … Continue reading

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Sunday Morning Muse with Mothers on My Mind

Everyone wants to remind me that it’s mothers’ day –a day that clearly holds Hallmark irrelevance while calling forth complex emotional responses. The grammatical confusion alone is enough to make me cringe; let’s see, is it “Mother’s Day”, “Mothers’ Day” … Continue reading

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Tuesday Morning Poem

Forebear  Even as she rejoins perfunctorily when you query, –How is school? or Do you have a boyfriend? — she scoffs at your drab flabbiness, the discolorations of craggy cheeks, the lag-behind. She mocks as you press palms into the plague of … Continue reading

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Sunday Morning Muse with a Weekend of ‘slight faith’

On Friday, I was interviewed on the local Port Townsend radio station, KPTZ, by Phil Andrus,the wonderful host of a weekly arts show called Tossed Salad.  The studio is small and when you exchange places with the prior guest, which may … Continue reading

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Tuesday Morning Poem

Consolation Imagine the crawl from sight to sightlessness. Even in dreams you wear bifocals. Imagine not knowing your grandson’s name, or being lost in a word-salad thicket of sinister trees. Imagine lying on your death bed, palms cupped in a … Continue reading

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Sunday Morning Muse on Monday with Bruise

I slipped in the tub on Saturday morning. I was in Seattle attending a 2-day medical meeting, and spent Friday night at a hotel. As I stepped into the tub for a shower, the bath mat slid out from underfoot, … Continue reading

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Tuesday Morning Poem

If it rains when I’m thirsty, am I the orchard? On the other side of glass it’s raining. Glass is made of silicon. Rain is H2O. I think of two hydrogen atoms swaddling the lone oxygen, how they cleave through … Continue reading

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