Maybe one time standing behind a podium
you heard voices and realized they were
what your own mouth just said and quickly
you grew accustomed to giving orders.
Or maybe standing there you said nothing
at all and the next thing you knew
some night shift nurse of the invisibly
wounded was monitoring your fitful dreams.
Like everyone, I’ll watch indefinitely while
the meant-to-be lovers stay a lip’s width apart
or a war zone, their shadows overlapping
like animals around a dried-up watering hole.
I keep expecting someone prettier when I look
in the mirror. See how we shatter then
reassemble as I turn away back into the day.
© Lisa Olstein
Some other works of this poet:
- In the Meantime
- I Saw a Brand New Look
- What We’re Trying to Do is Create a Community of Dreamers
- Where the Use of Cannon Is Impractical
- Another Story with a Burning Barn in It
- Air Rights
- Run Every Race as if It’s Your Last
- That Magnificent Part the Chorus Does about Tragedy
- [White Spring]
- Dream in Which I Love a Third Baseman