we
talked
about
how
we
loved
odes
maybe
writing
an
ode
to
the
ode

I
sat
by
the
door
though
it
was
cold
I
could
smell
the
rain
when
it
opened

I
tried
to
ignore
them
through
the
repetition
of
angel
olsen

the
older
men
chatted
they
had
been
friends
forever
I
was
jealous

sometimes
I
kiss
my
wedding
ring
and
pretend
I'm
really
kissing
you

I
really
like
her
I
love
her
I
brought
her
light
and
she
brings
me
wise

I
looked
at
her
and
waited
for
her
to
say
something
but
she
never
did

she
sits
by
the
backdoor
when
riding
the
bus
she
has
an
anxious
way

the
light
came
in
I
didn't
care
what
they
were
saying
with
their
pictures

and
those
bushes
so
common
that
look
soft
but
stab
me
like
the
cactus

in
my
lap
I
nosed
her
curls
I
want
to
keep
you
forever
she
said

I
was
troubled
restless
envious
and
wished
I
was
better
received

may
I
rest
in
peace
praise
be
and
come
back
as
a
pink
lady
apple

maybe
she's
watching
our
soap
like
I
am
wondering
what
I'm
up
to

I
like
how
he
says
he
received
her
I
want
a
dream
to
visit
me

my
king
jester
rogue
knight
your
queen
lady
in
wait
courtesan
of
the
night

eating
an
apple
reading
the
handbook
for
the
recently
deceased

I
wished
I
had
a
god
to
pray
to
he
told
me
to
just
make
one
up

the
poem
was
an
apology
it's
the
only
way
I
could
say
it

I
cooked
bacon
for
dinner
I
wrote
some
poems
and
kissed
my
husband

he
was
a
man
of
faith
without
his
mountain
without
his
sun
with
no
sky

don't
worry
little
poem
even
if
you're
not
in
the
book
you're
still
loved

I
wrote
a
poem
when
I
was
trying
to
write
a
story
a
song

the
little
leaf
devil
we
walked
by
when
she
wanted
to
hold
my
hand

he
wanted
it
bad
I
shut
him
down
I
could
hear
her
missing
her
alps

the
husband
answered
the
wife
but
the
wife
was
talking
to
the
cat

the
deck
hand
said
that's
why
we
was
singing
we
was
singing
for
the
boat

I'm
going
to
meet
my
publisher
I
really
love
saying
those
words

my
tears
are
cold
in
this
weather
that's
all
I
have
to
say
about
that

she's
a
presence
that
likes
the
creative
she
sets
herself
up
for
good

when
the
book
you're
reading
describes
the
season
in
which
you
are
feeling

I
don't
want
him
to
need
me
I
want
him
to
want
me
crave
me
hurt
for
me

my
daughter
my
voice
from
my
body
to
your
mind
take
her
with
great
care

touching
him
is
over
sweet
never
and
dying
is
forever

he
sang
to
me
he
had
his
eye
on
me
I'd
go
home
with
him
forever

she'd
given
up
on
hope
but
the
dull
ache
of
missing
her
was
still
there

the
man
looked
like
someone
I'd
known
once
someone
I
didn't
want
to
know
now

I
think
up
perfect
poems
on
my
walk
and
forget
them
when
I
get
home

I
wanted
to
make
him
hungry
like
the
way
I
do
in
my
dreams

the
slug
resembled
the
leaf
or
maybe
the
leaf
resembled
the
slug

all
I
could
think
about
doing
was
kissing
her
hair
holding
her
hand

she's
my
little
doll
that
worries
about
death
with
her
eyes
and
her
lips

she
wants
to
know
what
death's
like
I
don't
know
I've
never
died
before

tell
me
your
feels
you
can
use
my
blood
to
write
it
make
my
skin
the
paper

I
would
tear
down
a
star
and
put
it
into
a
smart
jewelry
box

-anne sexton

I
read
the
whole
book
then
I
read
the
book
again
that
was
yesterday

I
lost
a
notebook
with
our
honeymoon
and
six
new
poems
in
it

it's
something
I
hadn't
really
considered
until
just
recently

it's
just
I
keep
thinking
about
the
note
from
her
I
found
in
his
book

I
shall
need
an
assistant
come
and
give
me
a
hand
with
these
bodies

loving
him
was
easy
the
hard
part
was
hating
him
she
welcomed
fall

pictures
of
my
grandmother
my
future
had
been
read
against
my
will

no
matter
who
the
girl
is
or
where
she
goes
the
mother
still
loves
her

she
said
when
she's
sad
she
just
wants
her
mommy
I
wanted
a
mommy
too

writing
dreams
down
since
the
1980s
I
always
knew
good
poetry

she
needs
a
kind
mother
I
don't
wipe
away
the
cobwebs
when
I
see
them

he
was
a
back-patter
the
type
that
likes
to
grab
your
shoulders
squeeze
them

she
looks
comfortable
in
her
clothes
I
feel
uncomfortable
in
mine

the
idea
that
we're
all
in
this
alone
has
never
made
me
feel
good

she
reminded
me
of
the
fall
roses
how
it's
never
quite
over

she
wanted
any
other
life
than
the
one
she
had
yet
she
wouldn't
leave

and
just
then
I
could've
driven
straight
off
the
road
and
into
that
river

I
had
forgotten
about
the
goatheads
thank
god
but
not
the
metalwolf

all
this
hanging
on
letting
go
and
then
the
doing
it
all
again

to
hand
someone
something
or
to
walk
away
and
not
see
him
again

they
said
his
poems
were
all
about
her
mine
will
be
all
about
you

nothing
is
permanent
in
this
wicked
world
not
even
our
troubles

-charlie chaplin

don't
forget
me
someday
I
may
need
you
like
a
knight
on
a
winged
beast

I'm
feeling
a
cute
high
this'd
be
the
perfect
time
to
make
love
to
me

I
contemplated
a
lady
rightly
and
drank
my
bitter
coffee

I
wanted
to
be
the
geese
to
just
fly
away
and
land
somewhere
else

he's
my
perfect
villian
my
confidence
man
the
trickster
in
my
folk
tale

her
letters
saved
me
from
life
myself
if
even
for
just
a
moment

there
are
some
poems
I
write
with
white
other
poems
I
write
with
black

the
unmistakable
whistling
of
the
villian
around
the
corner

I
am
the
audio
she
is
the
down
beats
we're
young
americans

do 

you 

remember 

friend 

when 

we 

threw 

a 

water 

balloon 

at 

that 

creep 

when
he
stopped
to
kiss
her
neck
the
world
seemed
an
okay
place
to
be

I
may
have
a
few
secrets
up
my
sleeve
I'll
think
them
up
some
other
time

-anne sexton

I
watch
the
way
her
fingers
wrap
around
mine
I
keep
hold
with
my
eyes

can
I
just
group
text
my
sorrow
right
now
just
window
installation
it

I
do
my
best
writing
in
my
dreams
I
live
to
sleep
I'm
sweetest
at
night

she's
a
pear
my
little
bunny
bear
my
cozy
little
spirit
babe

I
remember
waiting
for
her
tiny
body
so
impatiently

the
map
of
the
river
like
a
work
of
art
the
delta
she'd
sat
on

each
night
before
bed
I
kiss
his
forehead
and
tell
him
he's
my
best
friend

let's
talk
about
the
moon
for
a
moment
look
into
my
heart
tell
me

take
me
to
the
river
drop
me
in
the
water
I
sang
to
myself

grey
white
purple
black
they
seemed
content
even
when
I
disturbed
their
flock

I
told
the
universe
what
I
was
planning
I
had
to
tell
someone

whatever
you
want
of
me
just
take
it
just
have
me
you
needn't
ask

I
appreciate
that
and
would
you
please
explain
about
the
fifty
ways

-paul simon

I
would
stroke
your
tie
as
I
talked
to
you
I'd
take
your
hat
at
the
door

consider
your
moustache
twitched
I
wink
at
you
you
are
magnificent

-anne sexton

I
don't
remember
her
smelling
the
roses
just
cutting
arranging

I
wrote
the
best
damn
poem
I'd
ever
written
and
then
I
lost
it

I
could've
watched
that
creek
forever
between
the
sun
and
the
shade
tree

it
was
those
weekday
mornings
VH1
mysterious
ways
on
repeat

watching
thistle
seeds
ride
the
wind
since
1980
and
not
before

fear
of
the
future
raced
in
front
of
her
regret
aching
from
the
past