Saturday, January 30, 2010


by Lyn Lifshin

It hurts to come back
and then, like stripping
a bandage off raw skin,
to leave, turn around.
It feels as if I’m facing
away from where I’m
going, pieces of the
house stapled into skin
and nerves. The cat
seems to feel at home,
jumps to the same chair,
eats as she hasn’t for
months and may not
again. My mother and
sister move back into my
dreams while the walnuts
die back a few branches
each time, more ragged
and bare against this
March snow that shows
no signs of letting up


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