Anger #1

pits I couldn't swallow or spit out
the past 3 days listening to you
stamp around in your death shoes
screaming fire, how you hated
the poems. I couldn't talk, was
afraid to go get the mail

last night in the house down
state the black was still in my
throat I curled like a comma
saying wait got up while the
frost still hid the sun wrote
down the blackest apples

flowers from the dark until
the mean grew out of my fingers
on to this page away from the
bed where I'm lying with another
man writing you out of me

Lyn Lifshin

Lyn Lifshin writes: "am having trouble thinking what sin i like most - maybe pride is why i've done over 100 books, am so obsessive about typing poems up, having a beautiful Abyssinian cat, do ballet 13 times a week to stay in shape"

If you've any comments on this poem,
Lyn Lifshin would be pleased to hear from you.