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How to Be Alone
It is better to leave two pillows
on the bed for as long as you can.
It does not hurt to roll up a few
blankets and tuck them under
the covers on their side of the bed
for a while. You must learn to eat
and shop alone, buy less, do your
best to cook as if they were still
looking forward to their favorites.
You must review your history
together in fragments, or the weight
of it will keep you from moving
into what life still holds for you.
You will relive their death a hundred
times before the events of their life
resume their rightful hold on you.
They will come to you in many dreams,
often during the day. People passing
will only see an old person sitting
on a bench in the park, staring into
nothing, and not know that you have
tapped back into the day the two of
you spread a blanket out on the park
lawn and necked the entire afternoon.
Note Left at Laura's
I was here
in two pieces.
Half of me
was naked.
The rest
fermented
like old wine.
I ate
two thin slices
of date bread
and left
unashamed.
Fredrick Zydek is the author of eight collections of
poetry. T’Kopechuck: the Buckley Poems is forthcoming from
Winthrop Press later this year. Formerly a professor of creative
writing and theology at the University of Nebraska and later at
the College of Saint Mary, he is now a gentleman farmer when he
isn’t writing. He is the editor for Lone Willow Press. His work
has appeared in The Antioch Review, Cimmaron Review, The Hollins
Critic, New England Review, Nimrod, Poetry, Prairie Schooner,
Poetry Northwest, Yankee, and others. He is the recipient of the
Hart Crane Poetry Award, the Sarah Foley O'Loughlen Literary
Award and others. |
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