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Copyright © 2017 by Phillis Levin. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on September 15, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets.
in memory of Jean Blecker Levin
Not a trace, those days, not a sign
On a map of where you were from,
That farm greener than green
Rolling hills, hay high as a barn
Under skies without end, joy
Rolling too, the way it used to.
I've decided to waste my life again, Like I used to: get drunk on The light in the leaves, find a wall Against which something can happen, Whatever may have happened Long ago—let a bullet hole echoing The will of an executioner, a crevice In which a love note was hidden, Be a cell where a struggling tendril Utters a few spare syllables at dawn. I've decided to waste my life In a new way, to forget whoever Touched a hair on my head, because It doesn't matter what came to pass, Only that it passed, because we repeat Ourselves, we repeat ourselves. I've decided to walk a long way Out o
Of something, separate, not Whole; a role, something to play While one is separate or parting; Also a piece, a section, as in Part of me is here, part of me Is missing; an essential portion, Something falling to someone In division; a particular voice Or instrument (also the score For it), or line of music; The line where the hair Is parted. A verb: to break Or suffer the breaking of, Become detached, Broken; to go from, leave, Take from, sever, as in Lord, part me from him, I cannot bear to ever