Augie had a good day. He enjoyed some fresh air in the stroller with his friend, Ida.

By Eugenie Carabatsos

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my daughter is a Meisner instructor, 
demanding I repeat
the same line from her little brother’s 
daycare report card. 

I’m like a regular 
on an old sitcom,
one with 
            thirty-nine
                        episodes 
                                     a season.
progress stalled by humor 
until cancellation ends 
the world 
with nothing to hold. 

every night, I transform into
a tickle finger monster.
a patient with a blood pressure.
a dragon who loves tacos. hold the spice please. 

before my training,
I wrote plays in which
past and present were one and the same,
with characters weaving in and out
of their chronologies like needles through 
chunky yarn,
leaving gaps 
between promises of warmth.

I thought that said something about
memory and
how things never die and
maybe if there’s a payoff here
there’s no reason to…

now I only think in metaphor.

my children the clock. 
my very own memento mori 
staring directly into my eyes
again
again
again

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Note: This poem is read by editor Caridad Moro-Gronlier.

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When she's not writing poems, Eugenie is a playwright. Her plays have been published by Concord Theatricals, Heuer Publishing, Brooklyn Publishers, Original Works Publishing, and Stage Partners, and produced throughout the country. She holds an MFA in Dramatic Writing from Carnegie Mellon University and BA from Wesleyan University. She teaches at Dartmouth College. 

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