The woman in front of us on the train
is on her cell phone
“all I want is to avoid some shit”
she repeats this in each new conversation
her voice too loud and full of gravel.
Put that woman in your poem
my muse whispers
               and use the word shit.

We arrive in Chicago,
take a cab to the Drake hotel.
My muse lies on her bed and admonishes me—
don’t write one of those worn-out poems she insists,
make no mention of tonight’s full moon,
no mention of a starlit sky.

During the day we visit the Art Institute.
She twirls through the open spaces of the new Modern Wing,
races up and down the glass stairway
and stands mesmerized
at the three-story window that frames Millennium Park.
From the top floor she ventures out on the footbridge
spanning street traffic below . . .
this must be in your poem she calls to me,
it’s like a long arm reaching out
to touch the museum.

That evening we stroll the Jazz Festival.
The grassy esplanade sprawls with concert lovers,
mellow tones fill the night.
My muse is happy here . . .
as long as I don’t mention the luminous sky.

The next day we lunch at the Ritz Carlton.
At a table close by
a couple use sign language.
Their hands move effortlessly in private conversation.
Put them in your poem she exclaims
see how words dance
on their fingertips.

Going home on the train
I ask her to help me write this poem.
You can do it she says—
just don’t mention the moon.

Janet has participated in readings at Woodland Pattern Book Center in Milwaukee, at After-Words Book Store in Chicago and at the John Kohler Art Center in Sheboygan. Her work was recently published online at New Verse News and in The Wisconsin Poets’ Calendar 2021.