Poetry Porch: Poetry


Letting Go
by Richard Fein 

In my last semesterbefore sitting down to Sister Carrie
I watch you dressing for workpulling down your mole-
brown dress over your headand I silently sense myself
happymy fascination at watching you move from garter belt
to zipper and makeup for the worldmy novitiate-gaze
at your hands tidying your hair or your fingers at an ear lobe
my not saying a word while watching you look into a mirror
watching your compressed lips leave their imprint on a tissue.

Motorman in his cubicleYou turn from me to enter
the subway carfixedly step into that frosted light
the rubber fins of the doors emerging from recesses
pausingthen meeting behind youyour back like the coat
of a rare animal disappearing into a thicketand as I stand
on the platformnear a pillar with its riveted headswindows
and doors slowly pass meaccelerate and disappear
exposing the trench of grease between the rails.

Copyright © 2003 by Richard Fein.