CVII, Vol.5, No.1

Herewith, the latest selection from dusted-off published poetry and short fiction, circa 1970s vintage and beyond....

Without Her

He'd greet you everywhere
come stumbling from every angle
eyes like poached eggs
face mapped with unglued veins:
"Hi there, my name's Jack!"
Even swim erratically out to the
raft where you thought
you'd find privacy. But there

he was, too drunk to recall
you'd met before
time after bored time. Poor Jack
in the cottage he'd rattle around
familiar rooms, see her ghost
the smile that softened
and captured his younger years.

All that time growing its
cobwebby strands around him
throwing back her memory
mocking him with her absence.
He could hear her footsteps
on the gravel path, inhale outdoors
on her hair. Then refresh memory

with a drink ... another and
wander empty rooms, calling
until silence panicked him and
he'd wander outside to greet
the hapless summer guests:
"Hi there, my name's Jack!"

As though it makes any difference.

c. 1980 Rita Rosenfeld
Published in contemporary verse two, Autumn 1980