Rebecca Wolff

I am in the best shape of my life (this will be the last poem in German)

So what’s with the doubleness? You seem so single

in a good way
the author of all time “pulled up to the corner

and fell into a dream” it’s the fell part I like

“And is she very fragile?”
So incisive, a chisel

splitting rock, long obdurate
recalcitrant rock
I should take a notebook

everywhere I go
with me everywhere, for

He married his German translator
and midway through his
reading in English she arose,
sheathed in black polystyrene

approached the podium, and—

everyone couldn’t decide what to do. I
fled to safety. Out of the church
basement,
through double doors into the fresh
air of spring.

“This will be the last poem.”

*                              *

At last, my love has come along (Etta James with two clichés)

She sounds angry

the bridge is useless

She sounds peevish

And life is like a song

I can’t do my job
to recreate for you

swelling strings

When she won’t sing
like she means it. Absolution

apparently runs a close second
to interpretation. And here we are in heaven: That means

you have to . . . “listen with your heart?”

Your “heart”
sounds hot and angry too. Listen to that. “Listen to your heart.”


 
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