After All, Nin Andrews

Mark Terry, “Nymph,” 12 x 8 x 4, wood-fired stoneware, Noble Hill Anagama



After All

after César Vallejo, Paris, October 1936

It is she who leaves from this bed and from my rants and from my great longing and from my distractions and my phone number and my split winter lips and from the Paris we dreamed and never visited and from the Bar Champs-Élysées in Parma, Italy and from those nights with my martinis and her daiquiris and her death wishes and my dreams of suburban bliss and from her pink silk gowns, she leaves and leaves and leaves me alone, surrounded by shadows and cuts so deep I no longer resemble myself as I turn around and around and see her

still leaving everything, even my alibis, my I can’t, my no, my don’t, leaving with my Christian Dior Diorissimo, her Shalini by Shalini, leaving through the eyelets of my blouse and from the crease in my elbows and the backs of my knees and the frayed tips of my tight black gloves.

Nin Andrews

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