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Nina Rubinstein Alonso’s work has appeared in Ploughshares, The New Yorker, Peacock Literary Review, Black Poppy Review, The New Boston Review, Ibbetson Street, Muddy River Poetry Review, Southern Women’s Review, Wilderness House Literary Review, etc. Her poem Gender Veils was just awarded the 12th Annual Moon Prize by Writing in a Woman’s Voice. David Godine Press published her book This Body and her chapbook Riot Wake is upcoming from Somerville’s Cervena Barva Press.

Meeting Isaac Asimov at Mensa

Nina Rubinstein Alonso

Rick invites me to dinner at a Mensa meeting
everyone but me passed a test showing brilliance in mathematics
pleasure in puzzles ability to project shapes
mid air in three dimensions the sort of thing they do for fun
my safety is smiling silence the food routine Chinese take-out
and I’m excellent with chopsticks no humiliation.

Rick introduces me to the man on my right
Isaac Asimov MIT professor resident genius wearing
glasses– sweet-faced I tell him I’m a writer
and dancer love butterflies swirling
above flowers love leaping to music that sort of thing

I’ll never touch Rick or let him touch me
he’s not pretty just tall and craggy talking in clumsy puns
though he can spin tetrahedrons in his head though he’s
pathologically nice maybe knows I’m here tonight
because I had nothing better to do maybe keeps hoping

Somehow Isaac knows my heart story sends me flutters
of  playful conversation pulls his chair closer smiles
and starts to sing ‘Venezuela’ in a half-whisper unmistakable
breath of silken desire soft melody of sex
I melt listening easily flattered easily seduced wishing people
would disappear and the table full of left over food
and fortune cookies turn into a bed as Isaac’s sweet song kisses my ear

Too soon it’s over Rick’s bristling his teeth blue fangs
as his dragon forefinger taps my shoulder
people are stirring in their chairs and Isaac squeezes my hand
he has to go to a meeting I’m paralyzed not sure
what to do what to say so keep smiling until my face aches
The love bubble swirls luminous floating toward the ceiling,
reflecting colors of the perfect moment which
as I stand up–pops–but for years I wonder
even today was I an idiot not to say or do something more
it was long ago and I was newly divorced horribly young
dreams my only defense just an egg with no shell.

— Nina Rubinstein Alonso
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