Returning home after the movie Night fallen like the ginkgo leaves
Pulling out last year’s coat Hello again, goldfish!
Knit caps bobbing below outside Winter sunlight warming this room
Talking about my family as I always do I feel a new sadness
Hushed in the crowded auditorium In the dark, gold edge of sleep
Morning in November Sneaking a man out of my room— Ssh! I’ll buy the coffee
Hearing a friend’s good news I think, we were once closer
Zipping up a new pair of boots There seems no room for my old self
What My One-Time Lover Thinks Of Me, If He Thinks Of Me
Time has pasted over the memory so only the shape remains. A taxi ride, white powder line, cold hands tangling to brush his denim jacket. The winter of the endless night, a far-off fairy tale of spring. She had tangled hair like a mermaid, talked ten miles a minute. In the restaurant with the yellow lights, her cheeks rounded when she smiled. Her feet were small like a child’s, they fit into his hands which now felt soft, enormous, capable. Together, they watched an aged sparrow with milky eyes under the flinty grey of morning. Months later, I was startled to return to the street corner where we’d waited for the car. I cannot see myself and picture me as he saw me. I cannot see myself and erase myself as he has erased me.