The Maynard
Spring 2015

Eleanor Kedney

Good to See You

In front of Saks at Christmas,
watching synchronized snowflakes blinking
in dark windows
to “Carol of the Bells,”
I could live again for the penny
found on the ground.

My mother died,
and after 40 days and 40 nights
I blend green vegetables
to get vitamins
quickly into my bloodstream.
I’ve never smoked a banana
but I received communion
when I wasn’t in a state of grace.

Daily I erase regret.
It gives me pleasure to agree.
A rule I’ve adopted is to listen
but not give anyone advice.
Twice, I fluttered my eyes.

I’ve learned to say, Good
to see you
, instead of, How
are you?
so as not to hear
dredged up miseries or refrains.
I have a plugged-up salivary gland,
but no one wants to look in my mouth.

Now I write short sentences
joined by semi-colons. I’m not a whale;
I’m not Jonah; I’m not that epic.