LIKE GETTING THAT NOTE MONTHS AFTER

when he was safely dead,
no longer a lure, when I
no longer imagined running
into him in an abandoned
train station, no longer
tried to find him on the
radio dial. Dead, a relief.
Sad, yes, but no longer
able to haunt me. I think
of abandoning dance. For
once, I’ll be the dance away
lover, no longer stuffing
my closet with clothes he
will adore tho not as much
as my poems but certainly
more than my dancing. A
torture to me because
I can’t dance as I dream I
could but stumble in his
arms, too aware it’s my
poems he’s drawn to, an
image of an image that’s
less real than what is
projected on a movie screen


by Lyn Lifshin