March 27, 1990


It’s almost a year and I still

can’t deal with you

not being

at the end of the line.


I read your name in memorial poems

and think they must be insane

mistaken    malicious

in terrible error

just plain wrong


not that there haven’t been times before

months passing    madly    sadly

we not speaking

get off my case, will you please?

            oh, just lighten up!


But I can’t get you out

of my air    my spirit

my special hotline phone book

is this what it means to live

forever    when will I

not miss picking up the receiver

after a pregnancy of silence

one of us born again

with a brand-new address or poem


because the other doesn’t jump

at the sound

of her beloved voice?