that year,
the poet from the trees,
still only on paper
I'd picked up
photographs to send him,
my face round, candelabra
It was before his
huge face moved like
a snake hardly over me
Before I threaded
too many necklaces
of tears,
the nightmare of
having him,
the nightmare of
him go
before the news,
I imagined myself
splayed like fingers
for the ex poet
teasing from the
other coast. He sent
wine, he sent
photographs and
letters that made me
know he'd be the
first. Yes, I was
married but that's
another poem. I'd
just picked up
photos to
send him but
suddenly it seemed
hearing of
death, a chalk
eraser swiped clear
any thought of
skin on skin
everything burning
in me seemed a
sin, hearing the
news as if any
normal life should
be enough. All
this now buried
under layers of skin,
I dreamt of wearing
him like a glove
as soon as my
husband pulled out
of the driveway.
I knew his hands
would be winged,
I could feel guilt
clot in my fingers
Lyn Lifshin's recent prizewinning book, Before It's Light, was published winter 1999-2000 by Black Sparrow press, following their publication of Cold Comfort in 1997. Another Woman Who Looks Like Me is currently available from Black Sparrow-David Godine. Her poems have appeared in most literary and poetry magazines and she is the subject of an award winning documentary film, Lyn Lifshin: Not Made of Glass available from Women Make Movies. For more information, her web site is www.lynlifshin.com.