Driving Home From Mother's House
By Esther Altshul Helfgott

As I drove through the bower
of old oak trees
scanning 68th and 20th avenues northeast
I was scared by the moon.
It was so low in the sky that night
I thought it would smack me in the face.
I tried to turn the wipers on,
but strands of hair white as paste
covered the window like thick rain.
A woman's mouth stretched open
in a silent scream. Bent fingers clawed
until they reached my chest.
Some nights I lose my way home.

Originally published in the Psychoanalytic Psychotherapy
Review, Vol.4, No.3, Vancouver, B.C., 1993; reprinted in
Switched on Gutenberg, Issue 2, 1996; reprinted in
PoetsWest Literary Journal, Vol. 2, No. 1, Spring 1999.