Friday, November 8, 2013


She came here to have a life
and who should she meet
but me. 
Her eyes sparkle, she talks
like me,
another westerner
like Robert Frost,
untimely ripped
from San Francisco
(in her case, Los Angeles)
and come to dine
at Lord Jeffrey Amherst Inn
long ago.
Before Vietnam. 
After the Lord’s smallpox
blankets divvied up
two per person,
take what you need
to keep warm, he said.
She married and moved
to Boston, I returned
to Seattle. 
What happened to Jim
and his heroin habit
in L.A., I’d never know.
She seemed surprised
I was still alive. I said,
So am I.

(8 November 2013)

copyright 2013 by Floyce Alexander

No comments:

Post a Comment