I suppose word got out,
I would sit & stare,
legs heavy as rail ties,
every good thought spewing
into one thick coal cloud.
I suppose that is why
they sent me back to work the farm
in the old country, cause God & all
the saints know I can work.
But that alone won’t float good men up
like cream, so you know who to choose,
so I didn’t, when I returned to Pittsburgh,
even when the suitors trekked into my cousin Mara’s
lemon polished living room on Sundays.
Finally, my cousin told me in the kitchen,
spitting over the sarma, you’re too picky—
like she knew. What she didn’t know—
I didn’t want a husband. Period.
So, even as the hammer feeling hit,
I asked which was my cousin,
& when she told me the one without the hat,
I said, “I’ll take the old one with the hat,”
& that is how I chose the hand raised against me.
Lisa Wujnovich writes poetry and farms at Mountain Dell Farm in Hancock, NY. She is the author of the chapbooks, Fieldwork, 2012 (Finishing Line Press) and This Place Called Us, 2008 (Stockport Flats Press). She co-edited the anthology, The Lake Rises, poems to and for our bodies of water, 2013, (Stockport Flats Press). She holds a MFA in poetry from Drew University. Her poems have appeared in various publications including 5A.M., Naugatuck River Review, Adanna Journal, Poet Warrior, Poems for Haiti, For the Crown of Her Head, High Watermark Salo[o]n, Vigil for the Marcellus Shale, Canary, Literary Journal of Environmental Crisis, and New York Organic News.