Love pulled me out of myself, the way a cook eviscerates a chicken.
Cut me open and you will find his fingers.
Your mouth is a honeyed shape of air.
Hand me a knife. I will slice an apple to dip in it.
You comb my hair desiring more tangles.
Then we stand in the wind together and hold hands.
Sometimes I submit to the truth
hoping it is merciful.
When a lover leaves you
you say, Thank you
then wipe your mouth with the next day’s napkin
erase help and sleep from the blackboard.
The old corrupter rises again to defend himself
before the young and the living.
In ruins the sky will pose with clouds
and a tree in the rose window.
The body of one should depart for the body of the other
but some ghosts would like to stop at walls.
For a few months I turned away from the mirror.
Now I cannot look back.
This Life is from Lynn Levin’s new collection, Miss Plastique (Ragged Sky Press) available onAmazon.com
Poet, writer, and translator Lynn Levin is the author of four collections of poems: Miss Plastique (Ragged Sky Press, 2013); Fair Creatures of an Hour (Loonfeather Press, 2009), a Next Generation Indie Book Awards finalist in poetry; Imaginarium (Loonfeather Press, 2005), a finalist for ForeWord Magazine’s Book of the Year Award; and A Few Questions about Paradise (Loonfeather Press, 2000). She is the translator, from the Spanish, of Birds on the Kiswar Tree (2Leaf Press, 2014), a collection of poems by the Peruvian Andean poet Odi Gonzales, and co-author of Poems for the Writing: Prompts for Poets (Texture Press, 2013). Lynn Levin’s poems have appeared in Ploughshares, The Hopkins Review, Boulevard, Washington Square Review, Cimarron Review, Verse Daily, and on Garrison Keillor’s radio show The Writer’s Almanac. She has published essays in Southwest Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, Contemporary Poetry Review, Alimentum, and other places.