Philly Poetry Chapbook Review is pleased to present three original poems by poet Wendell Hawken as our third biweekly featured poet of the Winter 2025 issue.
Poems
Air this Morning Colder than its Number
When the mind is thinking, it is talking to itself. -Plato, Theaetetus
Walking on my stilt-legged shadow,
hands in pockets, arms like handles, scarecrow hat,
early light slanting orange across bare trees,
both dogs outlined white, the belly of the redtail,
a slight pink stain on snow where the hawk took off,
grasped prey trailing.
Goodbye, little rodent.
Some have said, and say, you exist for this.
Then a rainbow rose up straight as a flaming sword,
its arc a slow-motion reveal while a second
more muted rainbow appeared parallel above
and because of last year’s color class I knew the gray
between the two not darker, the below not lighter,
but another mere illusion on a flat gray morning sky.
Providence Hospital Nursing School Graduation Photo, 1931
Twenty young women in two lines, short to tall,
flanking the Sister of Charity’s bat-winged wimple,
their nurses’ pins left-breasted, precisely so,
on starched white uniforms,
and the blondest is my mother,
the left line’s second tallest, squinting at the sun
who grew up poor, eating squirrel and deer
her father shot in Carbon County, Pennsylvania
who took nurse’s training to get her B.S.,
slowly now, her finger
slides face to face, my mother names the names,
who married whom, alive or not, almost talking to herself
sliding past herself slim-waisted, sturdy shoes,
second from the end,
my mother telling what she knew
of these women’s lives as they stood smiling, pinned,
ready for the wounded.
First Hurt
After
the neurosurgeon—
flown down
from Philadelphia
as a favor
to my doctor/brother—
still in her scrubs
said,
worse than I thought
from studying the x-rays,
speaking to the screen
not me beside her
after
the six-hour surgery
no doubt knowing
my son’s future
unmoving,
the metallic taste
of clockwork days
after
the get-well-soon,
the if-there’s-anything-do
-not-hesitate
all well-meaning I know
I know I know but
better
the Lourdes water
(something to do)
to douse his neck at C-4
in the first re-hab place
Wimbleton then the US Open
on the room TV
(he played Pinehurst once)
Sundays, Joel Osteen
when
god came lower case,
if at all, falling into the never
never land of ramps
and voice controls,
power chairs
and bare floors,
where my son now dwells.
About “First Hurt”
My son, Freddie, was in a freak golf cart accident on May 7, 2011 that left him with quadriplegia. “First Hurt” opens at Fairfax (VA) Hospital where surgery stabilized his broken neck, then in his room at Atlanta’s Shepherd Center that specializes in rehab for spinal cord and traumatic brain injuries. The poem concludes in the ‘never/never land’ of the present. I meant its short lines and indentations to look like a spine.
As our family hurtled down the rabbit hole of disability, my writing gave me an outlet for my heightened awareness, and something to do—like ‘the Lourdes water’—sitting in my helpless place. Now 13 years later, revisiting old drafts, as poets do, I found a rough form of this piece that took me right back to Shepherd.
On a positive note, with family and friends, we have created a non-profit, special needs gym, Ability Fitness Center, in Leesburg VA where Freddie–and many others—exercise. Therapists offer guided workouts on special (expensive!) gym equipment to clients whose motor impairment requires expert attention. Freddie is the non-profit’s Chairperson and many lives, clients and their families, have benefited from this facility. His courage has been awe-inspiring.
Author Bio
Wendell Hawken (she/her) earned her MFA from Warren Wilson College’s Program for Writers. Publications include four chapbooks and five full collections. Hawken was named the inaugural Poet Laureate of Millwood VA, an unincorporated quirky village in the northern Shenandoah Valley where she lives.
Contents
Book Excerpt: Further Thought by Rae Armantrout
Read the featured Excerpt Poem of the Month for January 2025, “Further Thought” from Go Figure by Rae Armantrout, along with a few words from the poet.
Read five poems by poet A.L. Nielsen, our first biweekly poet of the Winter 2025 issue, along with a few words about the poem “When We Walked”.
Chapbook Poem: The Poem as an Act of Betrayal by Benjamin S. Grossberg
Read the featured Chapbook Poem of the Month for January 2025, “The Poem as an Act of Betrayal” from As Are Right Fit by Benjamin S. Grossberg, along with a few words from the poet.
Jan. ‘25: Year One: What worked, what didn’t, and what to expect
Editor Aiden Hunt looks back at our first year and discusses changes to Philly Poetry Chapbook Review in 2025.
Three Poems by Shelli Rottschafer
Read three poems by poet Shelli Rottschafer, our second biweekly poet of the Winter 2025 issue, along with a few words about the poem “Because We Remember.”
Dancing With the Dead: On Ragnarök at the Father-Daughter Dance by Todd Dillard
“Todd Dillard successfully transgresses the unspoken cultural embargo on work that grapples with life during the COVID-19 pandemic in his new chapbook, Ragnarök at the Father-Daughter Dance.”
Read three poems by poet Wendell Hawken, our third biweekly poet of the Winter 2025 issue, along with a few words about the poem “First Hurt”.