In my unresisting picture, all love seen All said is dented love’s saluted image Bernadette Mayer, the beat poet, wrote these words in Midwinter Day–the book she wrote on the shortest day of the year while also the mother of
about your partner… It’s inevitable, I suppose, after being married a certain and very large number of years, like 42 or so– your friends start losing their partners in various ways… They’ve tossed or replaced them, and some have died.
The neatly made bed, the dress thrown off last night, last thing, laid out now, like it is just waiting to slip back over my body. The way dresses are nowadays, it even has curves built in. The dress was