The heat of her lips, the silk of her skin.

His body ignites. He pushes in.

They lie in the dark under the fan—

A sex-drunk chump, a girl with a plan.

• VII •

LOVE

THANKS FOR REMEMBERING US

The flowers sent here by mistake,

signed with a name that no one knew,

are turning bad. What shall we do?

Our neighbor says they’re not for her,

and no one has a birthday near.

We should thank someone for the blunder.

Is one of us having an affair?

At first we laugh, and then we wonder.

The iris was the first to die,

enshrouded in its sickly sweet

and lingering perfume. The roses

fell one petal at a time,

and now the ferns are turning dry.

The room smells like a funeral,

but there they sit, too much at home,

accusing us of some small crime,

like love forgotten, and we can’t

throw out a gift we’ve never owned.

THE SUNDAY NEWS

Looking for something in the Sunday paper,

I flipped by accident to Local Weddings,

Yet missed the photograph until I saw

Your name among the headings.

And there you were, looking almost unchanged,

Your hair still long, though now long out of style,

And you still wore that stiff, ironic look

That was your smile.

I felt as though we sat there face to face.

My stomach tightened. I read the item through.

It said too much about both families,

Too little about you.

Finished at last, I put the paper down,

Stung by jealousy, my mind aflame—

Hating this man, this stranger whom you loved,

This printed name.

And yet I clipped it out to put away

Inside a book like something I might use,

A scrap I knew I wouldn’t read again

But couldn’t bear to lose.

SPEECH FROM A NOVELLA

Every night I wake and find myself

Alone in this strange bedroom. Always puzzled,

I walk into the hallway, blinking at the lights

And somehow know I’m on the highest floor

Of an enormous mansion full of people.

Then leaning on the banister I hear

The noise of a party down below,

And sad, slow music drifting up the stairwell

Like one last waltz that an exhausted band

Will play to satisfy an audience

That won’t go home. Curious, I descend

The elegantly curving staircase, finding

Each floor darker and more crowded, people

Everywhere: on the landing, in the corridors,

Some staring, others arguing, most so drunk

They don’t even notice that I’m there.

Then someone calls, “Mary, come down, come down,

And dance with us!” I try to answer him,

But it’s so dark and crowded I can’t see

The bottom yet, and I keep walking down

Until the music, laughter, cheap perfume,

The shouting people, all the smoke from cigarettes

Make me so dizzy I could faint, and still

He calls me, “Mary, come down, come down,”