Literary Mama writing about the many faces of motherhood
Lullaby (for a husband)

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Taking the Eros
out of it, I admire
your wool shirt, your wallet

which is worn and lithe.
Green like any tea life
likes to be. Black

with its color. Beneath
you, I think of afghans,
a winter of blankets: cold

compress that the
heat's left. This room
has cracked

around the windows, or through
the walls--
if there were ever.

Your hand is like
the craters of the earth.
I fall into it.


Susan Comninos’ poetry has recently appeared in TriQuarterly, The Cortland Review, The Tulane Review, Hospital Drive and the Forward newspaper. Previously, it appeared in Lilith, Tikkun and Quarterly West, among others. In 2010, it won the Yehuda Halevi Poetry Contest run by Tablet Magazine. It is forthcoming in Subtropics.


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Beautiful poem.
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