Sorting out letters and piles of my old Canceled checks, old clippings, and yellow note cards That meant something once, I happened to find Your picture. That picture. I stopped there cold, Like a man raking piles of dead leaves in his yard Who has turned up a severed hand. Still, that first second, I was glad: you stand Just as you stood—shy, delicate, slender, In that long gown of green lace netting and daisies That you wore to our first dance. The sight of you stunned Us all. Well, our needs were different, then, And our ideals came easy. Then through the war and those two long years Overseas, the Japanese dead in their shacks Among dishes, dolls, and lost shoes; I carried This glimpse of you, there, to choke down my fear, Prove it had been, that it might come back. That was before we got married. —Before we drained out one another’s force With lies, self-denial, unspoken regret And the sick eyes that blame; before the divorce And the treachery. Say it: before we met. Still, I put back your picture. Someday, in due course, I will find that it’s still there.
Posted on: Fri, 15 Nov 2013 17:31:10 +0000
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