THE LOST JEWELS, THE LOST ENVELOPE

by Lyn Lifshin

not jewels to anyone else,
but words, all there was
from the few who mattered.
Cherished like hair in a
locket or DNA that
would unlock what’s
gone. Did he care and why
didn’t more come of it?
Is the woman who wrote me
after death, “you were the
one, he never stopped
loving you, he knew
he was dying” turning the
time between rage and
sadness a blur upside down.
Those afternoons before
he went on air and
if it was thundering. Those
6 AMS as he left the
studio and I waited in gauze.
His blue sweatshirt less
blue than his eyes, his
“Honey,” words like
tossing ashes of someone
dead I love into the sea
and more blows back at me