I Don’t Know

if my love will claim 
more of me than I have
to give anyone in this world 
or the next. I don’t know
if there is any next. 
I don’t know if my son is right
saying more women voted
for Trump than Biden
or if Benadryl I take to help me 
sleep causes dementia
or if that line break works 
or calls attention to itself.
I don’t know if falling asleep
while I read or write
means depression or dementia
or too little sleep. I don’t know
what we’ll do for Thanksgiving,
no one else around our table,
I don’t know who I know
will get covid or how sick,
or why people don’t wear masks 
since don’t we all wear masks 
pasted to our faces.
I don’t know about galaxies, 
black holes, how to drain pipes
for the winter, how to repair 
a screen or infected hang-nail.
When I’ll see my daughter and grandsons. 
How to draw a face or my love’s face or my own.

MAXINE SUSMAN

Maxine Susman grew up in Mt. Vernon, New York, in the ’50s and ’60s. She has published in many journals and has written seven poetry collections; her latest tells of her mother’s early medical practice in Mt. Vernon. She teaches poetry at the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute of Rutgers University.