cropped and digitally modified from photo found at www.70-130.com
SEPARATING
by Michael L. Newell
When you say, "I'm leaving,"
and
begin to sob,
I
feel a strange elation,
not
for your departure,
but
for your crumpled face.
I say, "Stay, stay,"
and
press you tight;
I
am a child squeezing
hot
laundry to his face.
*
Amputees still feel
severed
limbs--
how
long will my left arm
remember
your weight?
~
originally published in Poetry/LA (1984)
