All Saints Day

by Lisa Bellamy

Today they jostle among us until sundown,
listen to our chatter, nudge each other, read the news
over our shoulders; they window-shop,
zoom through revolving doors, sniff new perfumes,
slip into silks, swanky dresses, and at noon on Third Avenue,
walking to Hale and Hearty, I smell my mother’s
cigarette smoke. Hey! You. Not so fast, I say.
Did you love me? Did I walk into a room and I was
the one person you wanted to see? The old question.
A great cloud of witnesses holds its breath,
waits for her answer—and, as if she were a hurricane
and I a tree, she blows through me: a wordless storm of regret.

Copyright © 2016 by Lisa Bellamy


Lisa Bellamy

Featured Poet of the Month  Lisa Bellamy

Lisa Bellamy studies poetry with Philip Schultz at The Writers Studio, where she also teaches. Her chapbook, Nectar, won the Aurorean-Encircle Publications Chapbook Prize. Her work has appeared in TriQuarterly, Massachusetts Review, New Ohio Review, The Sun, Hotel Amerika, The Southampton Review, Cimarron Review, Chiron Review and Calyx, among other publications. She won Fugue’s Poetry Prize in 2008 and received honorable mention in The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror 2007. She is working on her first full-length collection.

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