OLD BOY FRIENDS

The deaf one leaves a note in

the house you don’t still wait

for him in, unable to call.

“For old times sake,” he

writes. Or was it a blow job?

Others send postcards from

Miami, they’ve said the same

thing 16 years. Suddenly they

stop. Your present boyfriend’s

daughter was 7 when the post

cards came. Now she’s wanting

a baby. Most, you never hear

from again. It’s a jolt to read

their obituary, especially if you

left them. Almost a relief with

the ones you cared for too much

No old boyfriends have called

me for dinner or brunch. Once

I could count them, the lovers

at least waiting hours in an

airport with nothing to do.

They are probably on a list in

a poetry notebook in some

archives. I remember my cats,

from 6 years old more clearly

of course there weren’t as

many. Old boyfriends come

back in dreams and when I

wake up I’m not sorry. One

writes poems about a woman

in clothes like mine who looks

like me. Hardly any have asked

for money or good wishes on

a marriage. The ones, never quite

lovers, haunt the most like a

book you couldn’t put down

but never finished left behind in

some abandoned railroad station

you won’t get back to again

by Lyn Lifshin

"Old boyfriends come back in dreams and when I wake up I’m not sorry."  

Earlier in her career, Ms. Lifshin won The Jack Kerouac Award for her book, Kiss the Skin Off. She has published numerous books of poetry and has edited four anthologies of poetry by women. One of her most recent collections is Persephone, published in fall of 2008.