Organized by Collection
Entr'ActeHer new lover had buckets of money
More Like This
and twenty years more than she,
but Jessie's hair was the yellow
of every happy ending
eyes blue as a January sky.
We sat one weather-beaten night
eating cranberry bread that Nancy had made,
dry as drought, crumbly as memory.
She liked it that way she said,
by way of self-defense
and Margaret and I ate it anyway
because it was something
to put in our mouths
that reminded us of things
that tasted good
the way dreams remind us
of who we were when we were young.
He bought her Prada shoes, Margaret said,
her fingers twisting in the black fur of her fretful dog.
I don't know what to think, it isn't how we live.
Well it's how Jessie lives now, at twenty-two
with her streetlight hair and police car eyes.
We could wear Prada shoes to the grain store
or the Town Hall, we decided,
with our old jeans and our winter coats.