Lisa Shulman

Small Losses

The soupspoons disappeared first, one by one
followed by knives, a few linen napkins,
as if some being on the other side
of the veil was setting up house. I wondered
who it was, and if they wore my lost socks
on their cold feet, my missing glasses on
their failing eyes. These small losses barely
noticed until later: the slow decline
of spring frogs, the carefully worded bill,
the quiet appointment of a judge, all
the thin slivers that we believed were ours,
pared away like potato skin by those
who now hold the knives, busy preparing
soup to be eaten only by those with spoons. 

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Lisa Shulman is a poet, children’s book author, and teacher. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Inkfish, Kitchen Table Quarterly, Chiron Review, New Verse News, ONE ART, Poetry Breakfast, Catamaran, California Quarterly, The Best Small Fictions, and a number of other journals and anthologies. Nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Lisa’s poetry has also been performed by Off the Page Readers Theater. Her new chapbook is Fragile Bones, Fierce Heart (Finishing Line Press). Lisa lives in Northern California where she teaches poetry with California Poets in the Schools. www.lisashulman.com