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Photo of Joan Logghe by Diane Ronayne. All rights reserved.

Joan Logghe Joan Logghe


The Seven Wonders

Finally, a truck drives into my heart
With its massive tires and leaves my heart
An occupied destination, a motor club Triptych to Alive,
The scenic route or the freeway, no matter, we finally arrive,
Get to the heart, pitch our tent, quarrel because
We always do when we drive those stakes, hungry, sing
Because we have to, go swimming in the heart, wash
Our hands and linger there though we smell the pigs
From the feed lots down the road. Wish we had made
This trip sooner, I say to no one in particular
And to our youngest child who is taking hurdles,
Winning a medal. I say to my mother, whose heart
Is a sputtering vehicle on the beach, “How come
Nobody drove into my heart before? Wasn’t the rate
Decent? Weren’t the views all along spectacular?
Isn’t the restaurant four stars, the sheets clean?
The seven wonders of the invisible woman in the
Hidden individual world?


Queen Beti

Out beyond permanent waves there is a field.
My mother lives there, Queen of the Day.
Take a disposable camera of your mother’s last year.
In the pool she let me go, saying, Swim!

Her final year in Pittsburgh, Boca Raton.
Dark nights of the soul are not for her, she’s blond.
In the pool she let me go, moving back, saying Swim!
Out of your life doing the Jewish Lady Crawl.

Dark nights of the soul are not for her, she’s blond.
The Hungarian Revolution made her weep. After
All her life she never did the Jewish Lady Crawl
To save her hair, for she was the Queen of Beauty.

The Hungarians made her weepy. After all
She needs help to walk, here comes the bride, Miss Third Street
Save her here, who is the actual Aphrodite.
In case of a medical Emergency Do Not Call 911.

Here comes the bride in a wheel chair, Miss Third Street.
In case of a beauty emergency call 911.
In case of a medical emergency do not panic.
Cry out, Shema, Listen, God is everywhere.


In case of a beauty emergency do not panic

Write down each conversation as if it were the last.
Say the Shema, Listen, God is one
Way or another, we all go back to God.

Write down each conversation.
“I wear lipstick, don’t I?”
One way or another we all go back to God,
In biblical begats, back to the strong ones.

She said on Rosh Hashanah, “I wear lipstick, don’t I?”
My brother is my guru, holy man of cell phone.
The biblical begats back to the godly.
She lives on oxygen between bed and couch and table.

My brother is my guru, the good man does exist.
In sacred geometry, she dwells between three places
On oxygen between bedroom, couch and table.
She is so small, but loves so hugely.

In sacred geometry she dwells between three worlds.
Take a disposable camera of her last days.
She is so small but loves so hugely.
Out beyond permanent waves, there is a field.