The Poetry Of.
Henri Dumolet...............................................
Lunch
I shouldn't be where I'm not wanted
If you don't love me tell me so,
I said, I'll surely go.
No it is not like that she said
Then, I asked, what is it like?
It is, she said, our situation.
It is the difference in our tides.
Then I saw a tear.
Then the salmon came
No Question
Even as she was leaving me
With her for the last time in her car
She said, "if you were 30 now there'd be no question"
But there was no question I could be 30 now
Though I had promised her that summer
In the Place I would be younger.
When I had come again
I think she was surprised
I was not younger.
Thought she would not have time to wait for me
Time. Time. Whatever that may be
But age, there is no question.
Letter
I admire you so for writing me a letter.
Once I did that.
Do you remember that I wrote to you?
When I was pretending that I was
One who might write a letter? Inventing oneself,
Deciding in which context which persona held,
Wondering if the 'writer' stays together,
Seems plausible, is consistent
With whom I was when we were last together.
And you touched, possibly by accident, my eyes.
I don't remember who I was that final day
But I remember you, dark-eyed and tall.
You seemed to know me but you had clues -
My hair, my old tweed jacket whose
Arm patches were real.
I was someone who might exist
And you touched my eyes.
It was the goodbye touch
So light a touch and yet
Puncturing, decisive.
And then I was no more
Did you believe whomever I was loved you?
After that it did not matter who I was.
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