Wendy Mannis Scher
Memo to the Absent
Facing west, feel the weight of late afternoon press itself against the windows. Such heat, and the refracted sun quilts the floor, the walls, the skin, dust motes threading rainbows. Beyond the pane, watch trees extend branches windward. Drought-pale, their needles/leaves are hands cupped to drink, imagine supplication. But no, trees don’t pray. On the stove, chicken soup clatters. Lower the burner, wipe the counter. Friday night—the hour closes in on the Sabbath, but you are not here, as if tonight were Tuesday, as if our daughter didn’t ask to light candles, tear bread she’s kneaded, braided with blessings for the week, for family. Soup steam scorches the air, glazes windows. Listen for a car, but hear only wind-rush through pines silhouetted against the darkening. We miss you as we kindle the flames, as we taste the wine, as we gather to eat, two shadows on the ceiling.
Wendy Mannis Scher is a graduate of Smith College, the University of Colorado’s School of Pharmacy, and the University of Alaska’s MFA Creative Writing program. Her poems have been published or are forthcoming in SWWIM Everyday, Schuylkill Valley Journal, and the chapbook, Fault (Finishing Line Press).