I got a bit behind in posting here. Here are my poems for today and yesterday. Not too late to donate!
In which the poet considers the possibility of love too late / by Risa Denenberg
I’ve learned to unsort any us
there ever was. I’m certain I don’t want to sleep
enjambed in your limbs and exhalations. I also
don’t want to make joint decisions about dinner,
handle a new set of in-laws, or dote on your ducky
But I wouldn’t mind early morning
conversation, coffee brought to me in bed, covers
askew, an offhand book review. Someone who gamely
tolerates a diet of oddments and remainders; offers
daily orison without mawkishness. Someone who would
read poems to me at dawn.
I wonder if there is anything
captivating left for me. It’s not sex I want,
it’s communion as I transition from dreams to the ordinariness
of another day, strong in my conviction that I choose solitude,
but still might abide intimacy, and then of course,
you should wash the cups and leave.