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women in love
Your face clouds over
when the picture
of the girl
with the red
octagonal
sunglasses
red cheeks
from having recently cried
leaning
on your car
falls out of your wallet
only to remind you
in the sotto voce
of memory
that she kept your
love letters
in a battered copy
of Women in love.
You wonder
if she kept it
she always said
that it was a mistake
to reread the novels
of your youth
Oh, she was a hesitation
You remember
every rhyme
every bite
of the poems
that she wrote
on your lips
for she always said
that you only know
what you feel
once it’s been written.
She was damnation
You remember
seeing the
ink stains
sprawled on the cover
of her
DH Lawrence
in the hands
of someone else
at that
end of the year
garage sale
he was laughing
chewing
his cheeks
but the book
isn’t funny
maybe he was laughing
at your poems
he was laughing
because he doesn’t love her
and he never will
maybe he was laughing
because you are trapped
in those pages
you still live
every curve
every sharpness
of her letters
and she now lives
in the verse of another
he wasn’t laughing.
© Margaux Emmanuel
