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second half

Red currents

I feel numb
only the sound
of jet engines
high over Pittsburgh
I’m afraid
talking to myself
about us
into the void
at the Trieste Café in Frisco
you and I talked about our future
the quilt we slept under
at our first apartment on Strathmore Road
the drive south through Big Sur
the fluorescent waves
San Simeon
early morning
too much coffee
I walk aimlessly and watch the sun break
between Boston skyscrapers
I feel red currents swelling inside
the day ending
I remember the July morning
you wanted out
now all I wish to do is watch you
blow-drying your shortened hair
brushing your teeth
putting make-up on
as you keep pace with your early morning ritual
I remember you
framed by an easterly facing window
considering my Irishness
I apologize
I can still hear you saying
no one ever hit my heart so hard


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as I arrived from Bishop

we kissed hello
and spent the early morning reminiscing
over your blend of 4/10 French roast

and 6/10 Arabian chocolate

I gave you some of my poems to read
at the Sacramento Street park
and we joked into the night
I saw you as an ebony princess
who had disappeared from my life
a decade ago
too long a span of time for most loves to resume
it has been seven days now
and a telephone call from you
brightens up the evening
it is late night
and I have been listening to the radio
thinking about your curried dishes
neutralized by spoons full with sour cream
I would put on the TV
but I wouldn’t see much
other than your body covered by my own
in a Point Reyes sand dune
the afternoon sun silver in the fog
my dog bear perplexed by our human act
Philip Hackett