poems In this issue   BACK TO TOOKANY REVIEW HOME Edited by Kristine Grow & Sandee Mandel For more information about  writing workshops offered by the Cheltenham Township Adult School, contact: Cheltenham Township Adult School 1414 Panther Road Wyncote, PA 19095 Phone: 215-887-1720	Claudia Beechman            The Cow Cat                                                                      I awoke this morning                                                  To a chorus of birdsong;                                                  There will be more this spring.                                                  I will find no sparrows                                                 Outside the kitchen door:                                                 No bloody tangle of grey feathers.                                                 He wore the Holstein colors,                                                 As he wound his way through the neighbors’                                                 Pasture of marigolds and heathers.                                                A missing companion                                                To my son at bedtime,                                                An interloper on the newspaper:                                                Stop reading! I am here!                                                 I am here.   Boca Lobo on the occasion of a performance at The Philadelphia Museum of Art, November 1995                 My voice teacher said to me                 In Argentina, we tell the singer, “Boca lobo!”                          May the wolf spring from your mouth.                 From the foot of the Grand Staircase                 I looked up at Diana the Huntress                 And the beast leapt from my throat.                 Six months before, my soul went into hiding                 Twenty pounds lighter, my body was admired                 Nothing fit, but what did it matter in Morris Hall                 Where patients lay in their stained sweatshirts                 In the refuge of the dark wood dweller.                 The doctors, finely attired ,the tips of their                 Montblanc pens peeking out of their pockets,                 Their monogrammed shirtcuffs a reproach;                 I, so shabby and unkempt wanted to shout,                 “I, too, am elegant!”                                                         When the meds failed                 They tried electricity,                 And finally, some current must have jolted                 The right synapse as I lay bolted to the table;                 Holly gathered my hair gently                 Ron said my t-shirt was pretty.                 (Though they say you remember nothing,                 I remember these things.)                 In the day hospital,                 Still ashamed and appalled                 By what had befallen us,                 We had “group”                 Sometimes silent, sometimes crying                 We listened to Chris, who gave good counsel                 And talked of normal things like cooking.                 My voice teacher                 From Argentina once told me                 We tell the singer, ‘Boca lobo!’”                 (May the wolf spring from your mouth)                 From the foot of The Grand Staircase                 I looked up at Diana the Huntress                 And the beast leapt from my throat.	"Never be afraid to sit awhile and think." Lorraine Hansberry
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