Poetry by Lisa Seidenberg

Judith Jackson CC



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Byrne Dairy Was Open Late

which was handy to buy cigarettes 
or a carton of milk on a late night run.
It was always the same guy 
behind the counter - a Vietnam Vet 
in an army jacket pinned with POW-MIA buttons.

It was an escape from the house of my parents, 
their mundane drama of aging and ailing,
my mother lost in a stream of syllables,
speaking in tongues like a Pentecostal preacher
or dad practice walking with a walker.

It became hard to remember them 
in any other way except for the happy summer 
on a Greek island, eating fresh-grilled fish
while a man strummed a bouzouki.
My father was Zorba while mom 
stared at the stars, tan and content, 
as if life would always be like this. 

The Vietnam Vet wore his war 
bunkered in the ruts of his face. 
I didn’t dare ask about his past. 
We are all trying to walk 
to keep from falling down.    




Lisa Seidenberg is a Pushcart nominee (2025); her writing has been published in Rattle, Asymptote Journal, Gyroscope Review, Rain Taxi, New England Review, Third Wednesday Magazine, Atticus Review, The New Verse News, One Art: A Journal of Poetry and Delta Poetry Review. She is a poetry reviewer for the Whale Road Review. She is also a director and cinematographer whose documentaries and poetry films are screened in many international film festivals.



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