Whistle What Can't Be Said
During radiation nothing gives—
all the steel and glass and plaster.
The machine closer and closer
until it’s an inch from the absent breast—
Why can’t I say what happened?
I’m trying to—but I’ve been instructed
not to move, not even a millimeter,
or the radiation will reach my heart.
All I want is to hear my neighbor
call his cows home at dusk, to see him
touch their bellies, feel the fur
that swirls between their eyes.
CHARLOTTE MATTHEWS is a recent Fellow at The Virginia Center for The Creative Arts and recipient of The Fellowship of Southern Writers Award for Poetry, and she is author of two full length collections:
Still Enough to Be Dreaming and
Green Stars. Most recently her work has received recognition from NPR, where she was the featured poet. Matthews is a professor at Hollins University. Some Saturdays she brings her 1914 Smith Corona typewriter to The Farmer’s Markets and writes poems on the spot.
CHARLOTTE MATTHEWS is a recent Fellow at The Virginia Center for The Creative Arts and recipient of The Fellowship of Southern Writers Award for Poetry, and she is author of two full length collections: Still Enough to Be Dreaming and Green Stars. Most recently her work has received recognition from NPR, where she was the featured poet. Matthews is a professor at Hollins University. Some Saturdays she brings her 1914 Smith Corona typewriter to The Farmer’s Markets and writes poems on the spot.