Joan Prusky Glass


For the victims of Newtown and Hurricane Sandy

Mornings here are different lately.
My husband barely has time to kiss me
goodbye before he is swept out
to the angry sea. Our children,
hair uncombed, backpacks strapped
to their bodies like lifejackets,
wave and disappear. The door
slams shut like an exclamation point.

I am left standing in the debris field
stunned amidst cereal bowls half full,
pajamas inside out and strewn on the floor,
a mug of tea that he pressed to his lips
before kissing me goodbye, now cold.
They will be back tonight, I say out loud,
and try to smile as I clear the wreckage.

Mornings here are different lately.
Storms that I might have sent my children
into with an umbrella and raincoat
now decimate neighborhoods,
now make unrecognizable the landscapes
I always took for granted.

They knock over mothers praying
on their knees and shatter windows
that framed our view of the world.
They toss landmarks around like footballs,
tear our children to shreds like paper dolls.


Joan Prusky Glass is the child of a Korean immigrant and an Irish and Polish-American Detroiter. She worked for 15 years in public education as a teacher and administrator. In 2011, she began a professional hiatus in order to save her soul, raise her children, write poetry, and become an educational advocate ( She feels it important to mention that she is both a recovering Baptist and disillusioned feminist. Her poems have appeared in Haggard and Halloo, Smith College AQ, and Emprise Review, among others and one is upcoming in The Blue Hour.  Joan resides in Connecticut with her three young children and geek in shining armor and was recently accepted into the MFA program at Fairfield University.

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