Prelude to Lying About My Ex-Husband

Listen to Laurie Blauner reading this poem.


There is silence in the restaurant. Although
silverware unleashes itself against plates. Waiters
continue their panicked dance, even patrons are moving
their defenseless lips. A marigold petal stops falling,

halts its flirting with thin air. I take a deep breath,
distinguishing fish, a little butter, wine, a candle's
slow burn. He resembled shadows left by light
across our pre-war furniture, disorganized, re-

arranged, hardly there. I'd said I do to a veil.
No more to the lines edging my face. Perhaps we began
with forgetting, then remembered. Perhaps our lives
drifted like overheard casual conversations. I'm done

with this salty soup. She said what? Sometimes
we are too alone. Did you leave him? my friend asks.
There is no sound. Until a woman whispers to her companion
they're trying to pass these plates off as real china.

PRINTE-MAILRECOMMEND...RSS

FacebookMySpace Mixx Digg Reddit del.icio.us Furl Ma.gnolia SphereStumbleUponCLOSE

SPONSORED CONTENT

• "Morphine"
  A weekly poem, read by the author.
  Mira Rosenthal | Dec. 15, 2009
• The Slate Poetry Podcast
  Your favorite poets read their work to you.
  Dec. 15, 2009
• "Dead Mother"
  A weekly poem, read by the author.
  Henri Cole | Dec. 8, 2009
• Search for more Poems articles
• Subscribe to the Poems RSS feed
• View our complete Poems archive