After Love by Maxine Kumin

Maxine Kumin

After Love by Maxine Kumin

T.

Good morning, heartache.

I am going to work, dammit. I won’t think about this. Billie Holiday on repeat. Maybe she will weep for me.

After Love

Maxine Kumin

Afterward, the compromise.

Bodies resume their boundaries.

These legs, for instance, mine.

Your arms take you back in.

Spoons of our fingers, lips

admit their ownership.

The bedding yawns, a door

blows aimlessly ajar

and overhead, a plane

singsongs coming down.

Nothing is changed, except

there was a moment when

the wolf, the mongering wolf

who stands outside the self

lay lightly down, and slept.

You might also like these:

poetry