Poetry: Selections From John L. Stanizzi

Giving  Blood

 

All those times when Daddy was late

she would broil the steak

down to half its original size 

under the dome 

of  the Rival Hammer-Bright Electric Indoor Grill,

where the blood collected and coagulated 

in the pan beneath the domed aluminum lid,

a half-moon round, silver and battered like Elizabeth’s moon.

 

When Daddy was late I got the blood.

She’d hand me two slices of white on white Wonder Bread 

which I placed down in the drippings-catcher.

 

Then I’d wait while the bread filled with blood

and I could eat it with a fork,

that deep red bread filling my small body 

with blood 

aroused by the need for love.

 

 

 

Peeing

 

It was like some overdeveloped sense

that allowed her to pick up my sniveling

no matter how quiet I was.

 

I wasn’t crying because 

I had wet the bed again,

I was crying because

I knew she would hear me

and know.

 

She’d enter in a rage              

pull me from my bed

toss me against the toilet

and hiss 

Pee right now you little son of a bitch!

 

But I couldn’t. 

I already had.

So there was a standoff,

until I fell asleep standing up.

 

She’d slap my face awake,

toss me on my bed

and mumble You little bastard.

 

For the longest time

I thought it was my fault.

 

 

 

 

 

John L. Stanizzi is the author of 15 poetry collections, including Chants, POND, Feathers & Bones, and Entra La Notte. His poetry and creative nonfiction have appeared in numerous literary journals, including Prairie Schooner, New York Quarterly, Cortland, Rattle, Paterson Literary Review, Potomac Review, and Blue Mountain Review. A former New England Poet of the Year and a Wesleyan University Etherington Scholar, Stanizzi taught for 26 years and directed theater for 16. He lives in Coventry with his wife, Carol.