You Antimacassar You
By Mary Leonard


Even as she writes this, she sees you walking on the Camino

Del Monte Cristo, the sounds of Spanish

so foreign, but certainly not you:

shoulders thrown back, head cocked

to the mountains and the afternoon game.

you pick up the ball from the curb

and toss it to the kid wishing you could play

instead of sprawling in front of the T.V. whooping

and hollering for the Red Sox. Only during

the commercials, only when your beer is emptied

do you glance at your shelves, picking up

a rock, her rock, remembering when you opened

it, finding at its center, a fossil, a star.


The last time she saw you

was like the space between time zones,

like when two people float toward

each other but the distance

cannot be crossed. She told you

she did not want to be your collectible,

not even a star fossil, but even when

she said it , she wanted to fold you

into a book, to be hidden in some dark

corner of a library under some arcane

topic from another zone like

antimacasssars, but even then you

would walk off, even then you,

without a glance, would walk off ,

wearing only star-crocheted

lace on your head.

If you wish to contact Mary, email us here at KotaPress and we'll forward your email to her. Thanks for the contribution, Mary!


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