Poetry: In the Next Room
Photo: courtesy of Dinah Kudatsky
by Dinah Kudatsky
Published by Florence Poets Society, Silkworm, Vol #18: Cycle. Copyright 2025
Reposted here with permission of the author.
Immediately after the amputation, my sister’s left leg
sped to the next room; it waited for her there. Helen remained
in her body for a time. But finally, a reunion.
She ran. She leapt! Then she pranced like the go-go dancer she’d once been.
Willy, my first love is also there. When I see him again, he’ll be 18
I’ll be 17. We’re slow-dancing. Etta James sings “ At Last”
he’s holding me close, planting small kisses on my face
like a gazelle nibbling the grass
first time together, half a century since the last kiss, miraculous!
Daddy, overworked, tough New York winters, dead at 52
Never got to retire to Florida and be by the shore
Mom alone, 45 more winters
Together now, sitting oceanside in the pink sunset
playing footsie in the sand
handing baskets of seashells to passing strollers
It’s “Bella’s Shell Shack”, their long dreamed ending
In the next room, the hands of the clock reach for
one another like old friends, and forget the time.
The next room: it is past the final terminal, where lost and lonely things gather
Everything is returned! Words, recollections, youth, health, undimmed!
Faces and places are remembered, arguments forgotten
The true self, undamaged by disappointment, opens again to wonderment
We’ll remember who we were, before we were ever given our human names
Every lost thing becomes found! Single socks find their mates!
All disconnections are rejoined! Broken branches find the primordial tree.
We’ll laugh like children and whirl like dervishes
No one can remember what the fighting was about
Our hearts become brand new, astonished!
Our ancestors are there, weaving around us the strands of eternity
Harmonies burst forth from all the flowers, and we’ll sing along in colors
The enemy becomes the unexpected friend – a stunning relief!
Orbs, beings of light that always knew us, welcome us back home
You, who were left without a place, are given your well-earned seat
You, who were without a tribe, have a tribal song to learn, now yours
You, who had nothing, will receive things you never knew you longed for
We all want to do better next time
I’ll meet you as we skate on a Möbius strip;
in the next room, we’ll have endless time to get it right.
Dinah Kudatsky is a resident of Amherst