A Love Letter
This is to tell you, I'm sorry This is to tell you, Forgive Ten years I have walked through your bones, Have sat in the glow of your belly; Three thousand undressings took place In your curtained hollow; I painted your puckered skin Restorative yellow.
This is to this is to tell you Now I am selling your favours.
Now for money Someone will tread on the carpets, Stand chairs on your nerve ends, bounce (Not alone) on the boxed springs.
I will spend it on you, every penny: Buy you a painting, a doorframe, A map of my journey.
I entered, bringing my luggage, My fifty years in their boxes, Layer on layer of meaning, Vases and wishes: my word-hoard. I smuggled it into the cupboards, Strewed it on shelves. Unpacking I brought you my past as a present.
This is to tell you my absence When he inserts the borrowed key Will you open?
When he puts his dusty leather on the rug Will you sneeze?
When he draws water from your copper veins Will you weep?
My absence is all I can offer When I bring back my own key, my own feet.
My words in new suitcases, My used-up absence, Will you admit me?
Laurence Lerner
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