Risa Denenberg
What it’s like now (without you)
that we’re running out of voltage—
I spend a lot of time faking
when I’m really thinking about (suicide)
what it was that undid me that you salved that got so unsalved again
when you left me (survivor / loser)
I met your parents, after
(they cannibalized your apartment)
I read your journals, after.
Where you described (turning tricks in Naples
snorting cocaine, drinking Remy Martin
and) how they cannibalized you.
When you were living, we shared unloveliness
but you (death) never respond to my queries.
Risa Denenberg is the author of three poetry collections, most recently, slight faith (MoonPath Press, 2018). She is a co-founder of Headmistress Press, publisher of Lesbian/Bi/Trans poetry. She curates The Poetry Café, an online meeting place where poetry chapbooks are reviewed. For more information: thepoetrycafe.online and risadenenberg.com
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Here is today’s prompt
(optional as always)
Today’s poem, like others in this series, is about the loss of a loved one to AIDS. In this case, the poem is addressed directly to the loved one who died (that is, addressed to a “you”). Write a poem addressed directly to a person who died of AIDS. This could be a person you knew, a person you admired, or even an imaginary person.