#217 v15,10.113

20th anniversay issue #4
LYN LIFSHIN : NIGHTS IT WAS TOO HOT TO STAY IN THE APARTMENT
LYN LIFSHIN : FOR THE ROSES

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LYN LIFSHIN
NIGHTS IT WAS TOO HOT TO STAY IN THE APARTMENT 

We drove to the lake, then stopped at my grandmother’s. The grown ups sat in the screened porch on wicker or the glider whispering above the clink of ice in wet glass. Spirea and yellow roses circled the earth under stars. A silver apple moon. Bored and still sweaty, my sister and I wanted to sleep out on the lawn and dragged out our uncle’s army blankets and chairs for a tent. We wanted the stars on our skin, the small green apples to hang over the blanket to protect us from bats. From the straw mats, peonies glowed like planets and if there was a breeze, it was roses and sweat. I wanted our white cats under the olive green with us, their tongues snapping up moths and whatever buzzed thru the clover. For an hour the porch seemed miles away until itchy with bug bites and feeling our shirts fill with night air, my hair grow curlier, our mother came to fold up the blankets and chairs and I wished I was old enough to stay alone until dawn or small enough to be scooped up, asleep in arms that would carry me up the still hot apartment stairs and into sheets I wouldn’t know were still warm until morning

POETRYREPAIRS #217 v15,10.113





LYN LIFSHIN
FOR THE ROSES

I wore Tea Rose and often a black rose in my hair that summer, symbol of freedom, a nod to the White Rose, the German girl who protesting the Nazis, gave her skin, her lips and heart, her life. I was flying coast to coast to read, coming back to an alone house. Named for the rose, for a aunt adventurous as Joni, who danced in flames, I dressed in rose. Deborah of the roses. The stories about her whispered by grown-ups behind stained glass doors. Who wouldn't expect roses in my poems? White rose, Bulgarian rose. When I walked thru airports with a white rose from Allen Ginsberg everyone whispered, "roses." But it was the rose scent perfuming the air form my body. You could almost hear, as even now I can almost feel the one who touched me on that coast, what Joni heard in the wind, the end of, the chilly now, the last face to face

POETRYREPAIRS #217 v15,10.113




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