13 Knishes by Kim Dower: Coming of Age in Poetry

On today's show, Kim Dower talks about her work coaching authors to be their best selves as a publicist. But Kim's primary work as an artist includes a body of stunning poetry - physical and visceral - published in three collections. Since we didn't get to talk about her word work on the show, she shared a bit for us here. Find more at KimDowerPoet.com

13 Knishes

by Kim Dower

from Last Train to the Missing Planet

A friend brings me 13 knishes

from Brighton Beach

carries them in a plastic bag

on the airplane from New York

to L.A.: potato, meat, kasha

I didn’t know what to say.  I’m touched

he thought of me, wanted

to surprise me, the weight alone

daunting, carrying onto the plane

even if it crashed he’d have

held them tight, gone down

the emergency slide clutching them,

those knishes brought me back

so many memories riding the D

from Manhattan to the beach

I was a teen, towel rolled under my arm

would stop at that dive under the “EL”

eat one before I hit the sand

like a punch in the stomach

even without gravy that knish

was lethal, and now I have 13.

How could he know the smell

alone set me back remembering the man

standing over me, blocking the sun

not a soul on the sand, my eyes closed

body slathered in Coppertone

he bent down, kissed me on the lips

said, that’s what we do where I come from,

I said, this is America, I’m 16, just want a tan,

and I could never shake that dread

like a knish in my stomach feeling

like lead, a gift from a place long ago

way before I knew how to say no.