When we were three & seven we wore coatsfor two and six-year-olds. The war shortened our sleeveswe looked like children whose clothes had been shrunk by poverty& hot water standing in suburbia which looked more like war ruins earth in Europe still smoking.Daughters of divorce: a breviary for love.In the hospital my chum spoke with the waver of cerebral palsy:I thought of her wordsdropped in waterblurring starry.I listen to this day: down halls up wells of light:excited by the possibility of refinding that child:no time like it: lie where you are in a bud of lightstand where you are & survive being ignited.
Lynn Strongin Born in New York City in 1939 to parents of Eastern European background, Strongin grew up surrounded by the arts. Stricken with polio at age 12, she was made a child of the ward at precisely mid century learning perhaps the most painful aspect of any disease: isolation. She has lived in British Columbia since 1979. Her poems have been translated into Italian and German and nominated for three Pushcart Prizes. She has published 14 books and her work is in nummerous journals and anthologies. She edited The Sorrow Psalms: A Book of Twentieth Century Elegy (University of Iowa , 2006). Her most recent poetry collection is The Girl with Copper-Colored Hair (Conflux Press).
These two sonnets are from a sequence of contemporary sonnets, SONNETS EXATASE. [End Page 17]