Dear One Absent This Long While
by Lisa Olstein
It has been so wet stones glaze in moss;
everything blooms coldly.
I expect you. I thought one night it was you
at the base of the drive, you at the foot of the stairs,
you in a shiver of light, but each time
leaves in wind revealed themselves,
the retreating shadow of a fox, daybreak.
We expect you, cat and I, bluebirds and I, the stove.
In May we dreamed of wreaths burning on bonfires
over which young men and women leapt.
June efforts quietly.
I’ve planted vegetables along each garden wall
so even if spring continues to disappoint
we can say at least the lettuce loved the rain.
I have new gloves and a new hoe.
I practice eulogies. He was a hawk
with white feathered legs. She had the quiet ribs
of a salamander crossing the old pony post road.
Yours is the name the leaves chatter
at the edge of the unrabbited woods.
yesterday, i was asked to do a teaching demo as part of my teaching application in a university. it was nerve-wracking, to say the least. after my demo, i was planning to drown myself in music. alas, my mp3 player had no battery power. i didn’t have my journal with me. and who would want to write right after that near mishap? what happened next was sheer cam-whoring. and what happened after was another set of narcissus echoing. here’s the output. the cute girl is little delirium; the woman is ophelia as rendered by Sir John Everett Millais (all rights reserved to apt owners). the statement found on one side is the following: small girl marked for life. i am not sorry for this rare show of self-love.