for Jane
Whether you love a person, a country, a game of Scrabble,the world says you just keep flailing: I’ve got other work to do.
Not true. The world says nothing. If there were a merry way,the world would go on it. The waitress didn’t hear your order.
You might as well stop singing.Because when you were light and airy as angels, compliant
and faith-bound, you could still be shot full of holesin the schoolyard. As for the little lies that crushed you,
as if under the wheels of a car, those yelps,nobody hears your pleading, even if they’ve had their go
at love: forget it, no big deal, it’s your own fault,wrong from the start. Or (under its breath),
those who cross the border, let them drown..Let the trapped…
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The American Poetry Review (Digital) - 1 Issue, January/February 2025