When I dream of you now you’re always writing often in verse, leaving shape-poem diamonds for me to find on 1990s monitors in our old residence hall on College Street. They say, we were disaster held in common. Say, I know you loved and tried, although afraid. Another night you’re in prestigious journals, have shed your family name. You touch my arm and say you didn’t know, then, who you were. And I’m not jealous. I know you're my mind speaking to me, leaving letters on my pillow. You won’t exit ungracefully for that lover, all you want is to be near and exchange kindness. I didn’t know who I was then, you say sadly, And I say, that’s all right, come hold me now.
Catherine Rockwood reads and edits for Reckoning Magazine, and reviews books for Strange Horizons. Her poetry chapbook, Endeavors To Obtain Perpetual Motion, is available from The Ethel Zine Press. A micro chapbook, And We Are Far From Shore: poems for Our Flag Means Death, is forthcoming from Ethel in 2023.