Black Lamb

Where Besson Street and Chevron don’t meet

April 1st, 2007

BY SAGE COHEN

I am an unmarried woman.
My eyes fit together like a door closing
on an old life. See how the river runs
under me, the dog sleeps to my left?

I can’t tell you how to get here
because I don’t know myself
or which way you’re coming.
I drive the neatly drawn line of Route 97.
Division Street divides us.

The difference between losing
one’s maidenhood and losing
one’s mind: ceremony.

The river comes in stages,
like death. Each day the sky wavers,
streaked along the bottom of things.
I curl to fit you but you are too long.
I let you sleep alone
with your face toward the river.

The trees wear a heavy fur of snow.
I wish I knew how to receive what is provided.
There are only alternatives, back roads
that refuse the heavy grip of tires, and kisses
that heap themselves like snow.
By morning, we are exhausted with the weight. •

Posted by: The Editors
Category: Cohen, All Marriage Issue | Link to this Entry