At first the gaps are small:
a mislaid key,
the name of the new neighbor,
whose friendly face
invites address; then some
its landscape changed by
into an alien facsimile.
"That sweet café in France (or
was it Greece?)
where we sipped wine from Corinth
(maybe Nice) . . . ."
"Don't you remember? It was
So we both tolerate each other's
indulge the mangled punch line
and the flare
of irritation at misquoted verse,
amuse ourselves with calculated
till I look for a stamp, and, in
I find an unmailed letter in my
The Most Beautiful Room in the World : Poems by
Carolyn Raphael, David Robert Books, ©
printed in The Edge City Review. Reprinted
of the author.