These long years after,
I occasionally imagine
he'll stop by in dress whites,
the scent of Hawaii upon him.
For a moment he'll love me
the way he did in his letters
In my dream I wait for him,
plump the pillows, clear
the room of discarded clothes..
A funeral is being held
in the courtyard.
Did the cancer take him
before his arrival or
is it the burial of any remaining
My face is wet.
Tears were all shed
and dried earlier.
What well do they flow from now?
Fear takes hold of my shoulders
and shakes me. The earth spins.
Birds fly backwards into a timeless sky.
Published in Guerilla
(the link is to a PDF file. My poem is on page 21)
Guerilla Pamphlets is closing its doors as of the
summer issue 2012,so I don't know how long that link will be good after that.
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