Gloria
by Ann Grogan / September 6th, 2026
remembering my sister, Gloria Steinem (1934 to September 2, 2026)
An epilepsy of despair has seized me:
I crisped to utter nothingness when I heard,
like vampires when they hit the light of day.
Smoke rises while I continue to descend,
my temporal lobe disintegrates
leaving no residue at all.
Because of her I am not consumed by guilt.
I revel in the fact I was no man’s brood mare,
did not care to spread devotion via a rosary
or live by other’s norms. No mother by choice,
I opted for a life according to myself, my mother,
and all wise women—because of her.
Ann Grogan is a joyful octogenarian, piano player, and retired lawyer living in San Francisco, CA. Her writing promotes the unequivocal permission to pursue one’s passions at any age. Her poems have appeared in
Dissent Voice, Querencia, Amethyst Review, The Prairie Review, New Verse News, and
Writers Resist, among others
. She was named a semifinalist for
The Writing Salon’s 2025 Jane Underwood Poetry Prize and for
Leftie Blondie’s chapbook competition. Find her at
rhapsodydmb.com.
Read other articles by Ann, or
visit Ann's website.
This article was posted on Sunday, September 6th, 2026 at 8:00am and is filed under Poetry.
