Jody Azzouni



Originally published in Edgz 15, 2008.
Added 2/22/2020
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Poem | Jody's Notes


She was often angry, especially at Christmas.

No wonder I imagine trees screaming;

write stories of them, after shock of axe,

slowly awakening. They die slowly too,

gaily ornamented, roots gone, stumps

soaking in buckets.


But this is later: the writer funning,

transcribing dream into image: music

from a sack of phones, a drugged

Barbi, shadows stunted by high noon.

I can laugh now, giggle over the ways

my mind works. For the child


it’s different. Untangling wired lightbulbs

can be a game or puzzle, fun anyhow,

the prize a tame rainbow born

out of an outlet, draped on Pine Tree.

For me, it was prelude

to seizure, a mom exaggerated

like weather, sending something heavy

out the window: later a visit from cops

and a man with his head bandaged filing a complaint.


Omen? Who knows? I tell the therapist

about the music. The carols still sound

beautiful, I claim. Then, our foreshortened hour

almost over, I describe a dream: Merlin

casting shadows no one can see. I

play wordgames with the wizard, mention phrases

that matter to me: ‘the dark tattle’, ‘the fist,

in her cement cradle’. Merlin frowns,

shows me real magic: wakes me up.