A poem a day in April from Rutgers English PhD students and friends.

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

22, 23, 24, 25

Awaited Kate. Bought TP
and rosé. I hadn’t been
by for a while—they were in
the midst of moving the pink
bottles from bottom shelf to
top. It’s summertime again.
I grabbed a Gabriella

and went to pay. He said I
looked nice, was I going to
a party? (Shiny purple
ruffles in memoriam.)
I said yes (I wasn’t) and
let him wrap it in tissue
paper and silver gift bag.


Just because I can’t see you
under cloud cover doesn’t
mean I don’t know you’re there. Not
under, beyond. She always
goes away but then always
comes back. I know how to love
the ones like that: weave a shroud.


I must come from some tough stock
I think while powdering my face
and noticing no grey hairs
or noticeable wrinkles
even after all this grief.
My eyes seem sadder but they’re
the ones doing the looking.

No comments:

Post a Comment