Poem about a stranger's kindness to me

The Stuck Zipper

By Janet Sobczyk, 2025

This poem of mine was published in the Summer 2025 edition of "Screamin Mamas" magazine. I love the full-page image they came up with for it! The white-outlined-with-black font is beautiful in print but hard to read from this pic. It's below in a font that's easier to read online.

In a new red coat

I stood out in any crowd

maybe that's why she noticed

my bent-over struggle to line ends up

fit floppy teeth into a stubborn slider

fingers fumbling

with a Band-aid on my sore thumb.

She came to my side and asked,

"Do you need help?"

I straightened up

looked into her kind eyes

dropped defeated hands to my side

and whined like a child

"I can't zip my coat."

She immediately bent over

grabbed red coat flaps

started her own struggle

saying, "This is hard."

But then... success!

and with a broad smile 

she zipped it all the way up

as I thought, "Don't zip my neck!"

I stood there amazed

at her jovial presence

her unhesitating helpfulness

her confidence to approach a stranger

and offer up-close assistance

all I could do was laugh at the situation

thank her sincerely

and chuckle all the way to my car.

Poem published in YCN, Nov. 2024

Worker Bee

By Janet Sobczyk, 2024

Small patch of wild daisies

still blooming in late September

amidst straggly weeds

beside walkway behind retreat center,

 

I pause to focus on their beauty

examine fragile white petals

appreciate their hardiness

in the chill of autumn.

 

Calmly notice a bumblebee

settled on one, quietly sipping

I recall that as a girl

it would have frightened me away!

 

But today I can linger

try not to disturb it

content to stay, the bee and I

for a brief moment.

 

Fall’s cool air surrounds us

thoughts of leaving the retreat

returning to work

swirl and distract me.

 

The phrase “busy as a bee”

comes to mind so I pause

look again, does it seem hurried?

no, its movements are steady, deliberate.

 

The retreat had questioned

how do you see your work?

maybe as a burden, or a calling

but can you see it as a gift?

 

I wonder, a bit inanely

how does that bee see its work?

what it does is pure instinct

just doing what needs to be done.

 

How much of life is spent that way?

just maintaining, surviving,

without much thought

or pause for reflection.

 

But today I’m taking a pause

today I’m watching a bee

like a child, in the moment

feeling blessed by this tiny gift…

and grateful for the gift of work.

With gratitude to those who facilitated the retreat for DRE's in Omaha in September:
Jodi Phillips, Deacon Omar Gutierrez, and Jim Jansen.

Click here to view Your Country Neighbor, Nov. 2024

 

Poem published in YCN, August 2024

Catch and Release
By Janet Sobczyk, 2024

“Hey, Pete!
Come catch this tiny moth in the bathroom
quick, right there on the wall
wait! where’d it go?”
 
His quick eyes scanned the room
soon found the Common Tan Wave
uncommonly small, wings folded
 trying to blend into a cream wall.
 
I backed away
to let him stalk the prey
knowing it would be safe in his young hands
certain my clumsy ones would damage wings.
 
Held the door open for his exit outdoors
watched as he slowly released curved fingers
expecting a fast flutter to escape
but it didn’t.
 
I moved up close to join Pete’s gaze
upon this tiny visitor
as it gently stepped along his finger
to the tip and paused.
 
Seemed to be probing his skin
with its almost invisible feet
was it tapping out a thank-you
like a silent Morse-code?
 
Or (more likely)
smelling the apple Pete had been slicing?
In a moment it gracefully lifted off
flitting across the deck.
  
We went back inside smiling
back to the morning routine
pleased to do a good thing
for a common little creature.

Dedicated to Peter Sobczyk, my son, 

and to Stephen Hassler, editor of YCN, whose shared love of butterflies inspired it.

Click here to view Your Country Neighbor's Aug. 2024 publication

.

Poem published in "Trails" Newsletter

 

It's unusual for a poem to be published in a newsletter (since it isn't news) 

but this one seemed just right for the Trails Newsletter for librarians. 

Thanks, Chelsea Morlan, for including it! 

Click here to see the Feb. 2024 Three Rivers Library System Newsletter online.

My poem and letter-to-editor published in The Jewish Press

 

This article called, "My Friend Rabbi Maximo" by Howard Kutler 

appeared in The Jewish Press on December 8, 2023.

Rabbi Maximo is my neighbor and he proudly showed it to me. 

It began on the front page and continued for half of an inside page. 

Very nice!

Click here to see Kutler's article online The Jewish Press, 12-8-23

I replied to the editor, Annette van de Kamp-Wright about it 

and she published my letter and poem on Dec. 29, 2023. 

Rabbi Maximo was so pleased! 

I had given this poem to him and his wife, Jeanne, about 3 years ago 

and he urged me to get it published. 

I'm glad we found a good space to share it.

Awakening

By Janet Sobczyk

This Catholic stayed in small Christian groups

values and traditions seldom challenged

comfortable sharing faith

while agreeing with one another.

A summer move changed perspective

brought into view a synagogue, new neighbors

an elderly Rabbi, his kind wife with small dog

quietly living their faith.

Friendly waves 

conversations by the mailbox

Rabbi's warmth, gentle advice, hearty hello's

led to learning about their faith.

One cold morning garbage truck roared by me

coat over pj's, dragging cans too late

"Bring 'em over here, truck circles back for our side,"

offered Rabbi. I smiled.

Another day on drive home

my husband saw Rabbi walking alone

when offered a ride, politely declined

"No, thank you, it's the Sabbath."

My own awkward gesture

a plate of plain, round cookies in December

wife's delighted response: "Christmas cookies!

I haven't had these in ages."

Her reaction settled insecurities

sparked curiosity and conversation

misconceptions gently nudged into

understanding.

Next December Rabbi came

with store-bought Santa cookies

explained kosher foods

answered many questions with good humor.

In the spring their basement flooded

not by seasonal rains, by an unseen hand

outside faucet turned on in the night

"We've been targeted before," Rabbi sighed.

Random mischief or persecution?

Only God knows

I ponder the meaning of discrimination

and search my own soul.

Dedicated to Maximo and Jeanne (blessed memory), who've taught me so much.

Click here to see the letter and poem online The Jewish Press, 12-29-23

"Labyrinth" published in YCN Sept. '22

Labyrinth
by Janet Sobczyk, 2022

This summer a quiet call beckoned 
not through sound waves and ear canals 
but thought waves that ebb and flow 
returned to mind again and again 
took shape, grasped my hand 
led to parents’ hometown 
a familiar place 
I hadn’t seen in years. 

Almost forgot the way 
scenic route with small towns 
strung along the highway 
missed the billboard declaring 
“Welcome to Norfolk, NE 
home of Johnny Carson!” 
didn’t stop by his museum 
instead drove through city parks. 

Recalled taking turns to climb timidly (no- bravely!) 
up tall ladders to slide down hot metal 
flying on black-seated swings 
holding tightly to the chains 
trying not to kick a hapless child 
then jumping off and landing, mostly on feet, laughing 
all replaced by now with colorful, safe, plastic 
designed to attract children… where are they? 

Drove past grandparents’ houses 
updated, freshly painted 
wisps of memories teased each window pane 
mind’s eyes pressed with cupped hands to the glass 
watching Grandma baking 
little me licking a spoon 
or spinning in a swivel rocker 
to induce dizziness and giggles. 

Drove to the cemetery 
drawn to the spot, walked 
through dry brown grass in need of rain 
to touch parents’ name plates once again 
gaze at uncle’s headstone 
knowing I’m in the generation to go next 
and younger brother has already gone… 
wishing I’d invited my sisters to come along.

Drove to the convent 
across the street from my parents’ old house 
which still has flowers by the porch 
but a different bench upon it 
used to walk the dog with Mom 
from house to convent grounds, strolling 
past rose garden, bubbling fountain, stately trees 
and The Labyrinth. 

Not a maze, no dead ends 
path circles around 
comes to the center 
then leads back the same way 
no getting lost, no need to think 
just focus with prayer 
releasing one’s cares 
reaching the center and resting there. 

A shady place to sit 
inhale peace 
watch bunnies play nearby 
fill up with hope 
rekindle a purpose 
then retrace the path 
leading out into the world 
and take home a new view. 

Reluctant to leave 
drove home in welcome rain 
not knowing when (or if) I’ll return 
but certain it will be waiting 
even if its brick paths 
should overgrow with weeds and grass 
will still entice weary ones 
to make their way to its center.

The entrance

View from the center

In the convent garden... a flower as tall as me!

This poem is dedicated to Sr. Celine and Sr. Hilda, with gratitude for their hospitality at the Immaculata Monastery and Spirituality Center in Norfolk, Nebraska.

Note: my photos weren't published, but I wanted to share them here.

"Uprooted" published in YCN Aug. '22

Uprooted

by Janet Sobczyk, 2022

 Last summer’s geranium survived the winter
 inside near sunny window 
 pink petals delightful
 before bleak snow-gray scene
 separated by glass from the cold
 never dormant, kept blooming.

 At season’s change
 geranium placed on porch
 to breathe fresh air
 feel soft spring rains
 blossoms bigger than ever
 happy to be outside.

 Summer storms brought high winds
 blew pot over, dirt outpoured, roots exposed
 stems and leaves lying helpless
 petals pummeled 
 gentle hands repotted it, hopeful
 and geranium survived, then thrived!

 Another sudden storm brought hail
 uprooted again
 shredded its leaves
 sad, gentle hands set it aright
 barely daring to hope
 and geranium survived, thrived, bloomed again!

 As do we
 upset and flattened by life’s storms
 getting a hand up
 carrying on, time after time
 bearing scars but
 still able to bloom.

 Dedicated to Peter Sobczyk, my son and survivor of many storms.