Beyond
the stethoscope
Poems
by D. A. Feinfeld, M.D.
The
Codicil
(conchicula hereditaria)
A sea-creature so small,
seeming
an afterthought
of
the Creator, it calls
the
ocean floor to reach
one
final resting stone.
It
struggles on by sheer will,
tiny
feet jiggle forward,
propel
the amber shell
into
a proper niche.
The
shell flaps helpless
like
a hobbled angel-wing
in
the ocean’s chill downdrafts.
Anchored
at last, the Codicil
survives
between sand-ridges
worn
by waves of the past
long
since blotted on shore,
and,
gathering on bits of flotsam,
mates
in haste and dies;
the
trace of its armor
leaves
one last gold dab,
testament
to a brief stay.
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Blue
Bells
Of course they’re weeds:
no
one plants blue-winged wasps
(two
anthers shamming the antennae)
between
yellow doilies of wool sorrel.
One
day there’s nothing—
look
again, shiny lancet leaves
in
afternoon green poke through;
morning
showers blue sparks on the yard.
They’re
street flowers, casual friends
you
nod to on your way: too small
to
buttonhole, too abashed
to
pose for a centerpiece.
Street
kids that slip outside each July
to
play hide and seek, stoop tag,
sporting
blue headbands and green trees,
they
skip through our alleyways.
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