Love is too
dear a coin to spare
Poem by Risa Denenberg. Photo by Ira Joel Haber. ![]() It’s too late now, I’m almost broke. What you suggest, my mouth repels. Fatigue saddles my response, I cannot assent, nor ascend the long climb backwards. Last night I dreamt I was buried in rubles, blanketed breathless beneath unmarked coins. Entropy describes a closed system, one that reaches a core temperature and stays put. My life has been a mistake. There is no use now in groping for an anchor, vying for specialness I don’t possess, praying for an unmarried moment of naked recognition. We have no idea what we are doing. But why let fear join us? We are doing, isn’t that enough? A paltry life, a moment of joy here and there. I apologize for being mortal. There is so little left to lose. I find more pleasure in pictures than in people, subway signage, kiosks with magazines and soda pop. You don’t want to hear this, I don’t even want to say it. I send you away for your own good. But no, that is so pompous. I send you away only for my own. My own what? My own how? |