Letter to Will

Dawn Potter

He is chainsawing

And has decided

To love me

Again, I think.

Last night he

Ran his hands

Through my hair,

Down the nape,

Of my neck,

Kissed me between

The shoulder blades,

And so on.

But I lay

On my side

In another world.

It was like

Having the flu,

Or wearing 3-D

Glasses. I was

Tired, not knowing

What he meant

By kissing me.

Maybe tonight he’ll

Still be happy

Enough, almost talking

To me, eating

Sour apple tart,

Watching a French

Movie with his

Head in my

Lap. We stumble

On and on.

[first published in the Unrorean (2012); forthcoming in Same Old Story (CavanKerry Press, 2014)]