Midge Goldberg

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Words My Mother Didn’t Know

Starting with the obvious:
iPad, cell phone, cannabis,

Mitochondrial DNA—
but science changes every day—

sushi, pad thai, jasmine rice,
almost any kind of spice,

zipline, snowboard, kayaking,
tongue or belly-button ring.

Then, things she’d heard of, so she knew,
but not imagined one could do:

Go to Iceland, make French bread,
care what anybody said,

watch a sunrise, touch a bug,
want to give your child a hug.

Scents of Humor

We all know sight gags—falling down,
slipping on banana peels.
There’s such a thing as funny sounds—
farting noises, piggy squeals.

But who can name the scents of humor?
What gives your “funny nose” a tickle?
The late-night show’s stand-up perfumer?
Candles with a whiff of pickle?

It’s okay, turn up your nose,
I’m not a “scents of humor” zealot.
All I can say is, I suppose,
you will know it when you smell it.

Midge Goldberg has published three books of her own poetry, including To Be Opened After My Death, a children’s book, and was the editor of Outer Space: 100 Poems, published by Cambridge University Press. She lives in New Hampshire, where she recently expanded her tomato garden. She still has the same approximate number of chickens.