As handsome as a fine pair of shoes,
bent above the frozen foods counter,
picking fish from the Pompeii market.
At such times, I am no more in your thoughts
than darkness itself in a world where light
never was turned on. It hurts to think
about it, but I listen when they say it.
A scandalmonger whispers, “he left her.”
Then I see a woman, stranded on a cloud,
but a trap door opens and she plummets
from view. To hear from you again, after
all this time, it is as if we both died, and
from heaven’s platform, you with your crook
and I in my red velvet shepherd’s cap,
were discussing the goings on, on earth
(he died and she gave birth), only this time,
when you reach for me and I fall through
a cloud, my wings lift and I hang from
them, caught in that pleasing astonishment,
looking at blue sky and hills.

Lisa Low

Lisa Low’s essays, book reviews, and interviews have appeared in The Massachusetts ReviewThe Boston ReviewThe Tupelo Quarterly, and The Adroit Journal. Her poetry has appeared in a variety of literary journals, among them Valparaiso Poetry ReviewPennsylvania EnglishFree State ReviewPhoebeAmerican Journal of Poetry, and Southern Indiana Review.