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Lyn is an accomplished poet, responsible for over 100 books, including The Licorice Daughter: My Year With Ruffian, which won the Texas Review Award. Winner of the Jack Kerouac Award, among others, she's been Poet In Residence at a few colleges, taught writing courses, and has been editor for four women writers anthologies. |
© 2007 Lyn Lifshin
(from the Rapple Drive poems)
92 RAPPLE
Here, with the cat
on my feet
and fire, mango tea
Those days, when I
first started writing,
each tumble weed
a jewel. I couldn't
imagine lovers against
the kitchen shelf,
succulents from New
Mexico, Arizona
less succulent
than I was but how
could I know, untouched,
sure I was untouchable
DECEMBER 28
they sold her dead
sister's car, turned
over the house key.
Her grief thru E-
Mail stuns. Never
close but not
estranged, that word
with such a foreign
sound. "Estranged."
The past. What
I might think as such
news as if had a
sister. There and not
there like a lover
who, it always was,
like talking to
someone in a coffin
THE DARKEST BLUE BLUES
when the cat, the
only warmth jolts up,
her claws knives,
somehow you turn
on the lights. Flames
lick skin just beginning
to grow after a tree
tore all but blood,
spotted red, a warning.
The only color that
isn't blue black
as fog and rain
move in
All work is property of Lyn Lifshin.
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