poems by Rena J. Mosteirin

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Sunday, November 18, 2007

Montréal to Manhattan

Remember when you came to the hospital, having walked all the way from Montréal
to Manhattan and then you sat half a day waiting for visiting hours, sitting
outside the door? Remember when you came to the hospital in Vermont
and the doors didn’t matter? You can’t touch anything anymore and no one can see you
but me. I am all cracked now, with crazy glue seams. I dreamed with you last night.
You said, now you’re with him, and you didn’t say his name, but we could both see
me in bed with the man I am going to marry. I asked you if you could see me
all the time and you said yes. Remember that day at the arboretum
when we were standing by that child’s playhouse thinking maybe
we could just go in there forever and be a family? Remember the scary child-sized dolls
who watched you propose? And remember the day you threw all of my shit out
of your car onto Dave’s driveway and drove away? Can you see me typing
this, can you read it, are you that close? Did you see me insist you were still alive
somewhere? Remember when everything I saw was a sign that you were still alive?

2 comments:

Marisa said...

hallo hoe gaat het! ik goede!

Rena J. Mosteirin said...

i see you are enjoying Amsterdam...