Sunday, January 3, 2010


by Lyn Lifshin

how some man googled Cove
Point, came up with my poems
and then wrote me. I’d forgotten
one high school love brought
me here before he shipped out.
Parked near the Cove. The Lake
water lapping. Unzipped, un-
buttoned. The moon a white
plate and his dark eyes moved
all over me. When he left I
thought my life was over. I was
13 and didn’t eat until he wrote
weeks later from Guantanamo.
It was the summer Groucho Marx
pointed me out in the audience,
my ravishing hair and shoulders
he said and my turquoise strapless
gown. If only I believed what
he said I would not be so wild to
prove I am now, would have
felt less shy with the man who
took me to canoe on the lake,
never touched me. He painted a
water color, caught the quiet after
noon. I need to take it out, feel
that calm again

*Lyn's website:

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