In life I’m no longer capable of love,
of that old feeling of being
in love, such a rusty
feeling, rusty,
functionless
toy. In odd
sequential dreams
I can still love.
Love in the old way.
Here is a sweet lozenge.
Here is some broth,
on whose surface
I have floated
edible flowers.
I can feel the old feeling
where I used to feel it,
in my chest.
In the dream I feel it,
but when I wake
the feeling is gone.
There isn’t a word
for the feeling that replaces it.
Not numbness or emptiness.
It is a nameless feeling.
Racy in its own way.
A racy new toy.
Copyright © 2025 by Diane Seuss. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on March 3, 2025, by the Academy of American Poets.
“‘In life I am no longer capable of love’ is part of my ongoing reassessment of my relationship to romantic love, which I remember, at times, in dreams, but wake to a feeling that has no name. It’s inexplicable, racy in its own way—racier, maybe, than romance.”
—Diane Seuss
Diane Seuss
