M I R I A M

Vera Linn


I wanted someone who was gentle
to come like a medium wind, blowing out
the unformed, half-made parts,
full of spice, a person who’d let me
ask lots of questions, until my need to listen
went dry and I started talking.
Someone worth listening to for hours,
someone I could open my mouth with.
Nothing creepy or harmful.
Someone who would like me the right amount.

Do I still want that?
The table is cleared,
the pantry is full of food,
there’s clean water in the pitcher.
The flowers bloom, bloom.

I wish that friend
would come on a long journey,
dust in her sandals.
Or I wish that friend would arrive
through letters in the mail,
ten pages of handwriting
and butterflies, drawings
of what it looked like that night
or of the friend’s lover or cousins,
I don’t know. I wish she
would make herself known
quietly, I wish she’d show up already.



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Swagazine 9
Winter 2001




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