October 2015
I live in the port area of Los Angeles with my husband, son, and dog, and I teach writing at USC. My first book of poems, Boy with a Halo at the Farmer's Market won the 2014 Codhill Book Prize. I'm getting ready to take the GRE again so I can go to school again (three Masters already) because, at 45 years old, I'm still trying to figure out what I'm going to do when I grow up. In the meantime, I'm building up my vita at soniagreenfield.com
Morning Coffee with Chagall
based on Chagall's "Birthday" (1915)
The bride and groom lift off
as if their feet were filled with helium, a bouquet of peonies
clutched in her hands, lips locked as if they’re
inflating each other like elegant balloons, such static
buoyancy in new marriage, caught forever on a ceramic mug,
caught forever before Bella would be plucked away,
before he would walk empty-handed
from that hospital in the Adirondacks. Caught when Chagall
still hovered, snagging valentines in his teeth
as the small-motored planes whizzed by, as glossy-winged birds
nodded their approval of his carmine skies. The ideal moment,
as good as a Grecian urn, before the bride rubs her fingers
raw scrubbing potatoes for dinner, before the groom
sweats through his shirt chopping wood, caught before
dinner talk goes cold and taciturn. Held aloft, alive—
before their feet touch the ground, before dishes
need to be done. Before the cup is drained, rinsed
and shut away in the hot spray of my top-of-the-line
machine, caught flying before the gravity
of domestic routine.
-from my book, Boy with a Halo at the Farmer's Market
as if their feet were filled with helium, a bouquet of peonies
clutched in her hands, lips locked as if they’re
inflating each other like elegant balloons, such static
buoyancy in new marriage, caught forever on a ceramic mug,
caught forever before Bella would be plucked away,
before he would walk empty-handed
from that hospital in the Adirondacks. Caught when Chagall
still hovered, snagging valentines in his teeth
as the small-motored planes whizzed by, as glossy-winged birds
nodded their approval of his carmine skies. The ideal moment,
as good as a Grecian urn, before the bride rubs her fingers
raw scrubbing potatoes for dinner, before the groom
sweats through his shirt chopping wood, caught before
dinner talk goes cold and taciturn. Held aloft, alive—
before their feet touch the ground, before dishes
need to be done. Before the cup is drained, rinsed
and shut away in the hot spray of my top-of-the-line
machine, caught flying before the gravity
of domestic routine.
-from my book, Boy with a Halo at the Farmer's Market
©2015 Sonia Greenfield