Barbara Rockman

Issue #
September 7, 2014

Elegy For Myself

I have given up on being

beautiful, on debt, and detriment

to the ones I never loved enough.

The food was only fair most days,

the weather lacking, and the sex

not what I anticipated. Good-bye

climate of contempt, culture of claws.

I was not meant to live this long,

never memorized the code or

mastered the inflection. My thumbs not

fast enough. Good-bye tremble

and blush, spoiled pears, raw fish,

keys and petrol, paint samples and

drawers. Toss my crumpled pages.

Ink bleeds; there’s no hereafter. Finito.

Adieu, fury, thorns, books, half-eaten orange.

Good-bye my anthills, gold ring, socks.

If there’s another go around,

re-constitute me bold,

less lonely. Sift me

into the lake I love.

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