His cat mourned better than I, lying
on her side for weeks across his room’s threshold
Some evenings, he would hide his face in his hands
for a few seconds —
You are invited to attend a reading by some of the most talented poets in the country. The time is 8pmET Tuesday, March 2.
The glint of those stares —
a flash of mica — offered to me &
just like that, I felt my loneliness shatter
I was free, I was twenty. I fell wholly &
forever in love every week. I was hungry for life
Look at me, writing circles around what I must face:
The man I love is dead.
So, how are you? friends ask, all kindness & concern,
heads cocked, eyes locked in mine.
&, just like that, I’m his again:
his wife, his widow
There was a room in Antwerp I loved so much
I never filled it with books, a bed, or a table.
It was alive with its own clarity
Death in the fog, all silver
& grisaille as it wreathes
& muffles children in the park.
I sometimes go months without remembering you.
Some griefs bless us that way, not asking much space.
& their skin-thin silt the Scheldt ground down from rocks, slopes & swamps — a rainy-day-gray mud, that satin muck that slips through fingers & escapes toward the insatiable North … Continue reading