July 31, 2007

TO POEM OR,
TODAY YOU'RE LIKE A PHONE I ALMOST DON'T ANSWER


21 feet high in
Philadelphia, the
no poem deep
quiet, the
February snow
peeling away. I'm
sitting near glass
pulled into sun, into
this poem

       somehow far

off un-
real like those
roofs down there, the
small cars. Poem,
you're like a
phone I almost
don't answer

putting its mouth
on me, a
voice I'd been
looking for and then
half avoided

Meet me in an hour

It's always yes

—Lyn Lifshin

Posted by dwaber at July 31, 2007 12:58 PM