Tuesday, December 1, 2009


and why shouldn’t she be,
so sheltered and on a very
short leash until the ex con
poet saw her picture and
wrote he wanted to take
her down the Mississippi
hollering poems and blowing
weed. Suddenly everything
inside her started melting.
For months, little gifts. Ok,
so maybe he stole them.
But it was seduction
on paper with wine and
gorgeous letters better than
his poems. But that’s another
story. One friend of hers is
shocked, an ex con poet
behind your house
living in the weeds, how
could she be so bold, do
something so crazy? The
mad girl bristles, this
wasn’t hooking up which
to her seems more like
being a hooker but not
getting paid. Even tho he
had no money, he taught her
more than anyone had. It
helped she was a virgin,
that she feared she might
never not stay one. Hook ups
don’t want to spend much
time with their prey. The
mad girl and her ex con
lover talked and read poetry
from dawn till about five
when the husband was
due home. A little detail
she forgot but since
they’d lived from the start
like brother and sister,
it felt right, slow afternoons
behind filmy white drapes
in the white bed seeming
nothing like a hook up, not a
one night stand but as if
she was a new bride

by Lyn Lifshin

*Lyn's website: http://www.lynlifshin.com/books.htm

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