I bring the New York Times
in its blue plastic bag
from the end of my driveway.
I hunt obituaries,
an article about New Jersey,
then move on to places I’ve never been —
Thailand, China, Japan, all of Africa,
images of palaces, jungles,
bombed out cities.
Today news of my own country
comes first, and my granddaughter calls
her mother weeping,
we won’t have a woman president
and how can she deal with the man
who’s been chosen?
Last night I dreamed the new President
Night before, Russian mobsters,
guns in their holsters, wolfed down blini,
gulped vodka, sat by my bed.
I put aside my newspaper.
“The day is like wide water, without sound.”
About the Poet:
Distinguished Professor of English and creative writing, emerita, Montclair State University, Carole Stone’s most recent poetry collection is LATE, Turning Point, 2016. HURT, THE SHADOW, Dos Madres Press, was published in 2013, and AMERICAN RHAPSODY in 2012. Her recent poems have been published in Slab, Exit 13, Cavewall, Adanna and Bellevue Literary Review. She divides her time between Springs, East Hampton and Verona, New Jersey.
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