ALL SHE HAD.

A WOMAN AND HER LONELY EXISTENCE.

That’s all I have, said Muriel,
The window, the sunlight, the

View of the city, the smell of
The room, the hardness of the

Chair on which I’m sitting,
Jack’s last words before he

Croaked, his final letters to
Her, hidden in a box beneath

His shoes and suits, and the
Photographs of us on our

Honeymoon where the smiles
Were and the laughter which

Didn’t last, and his record
Collection which I hated and

Will probably sell or destroy
Or give away to any sucker

Who’ll buy. This is all that’s
Left: the memories of summers,

The nights of love, the lies,
The cheating, the making up,

The echoes from walls of his
Reading aloud from the books

He wrote, the unforgettable
Time his daughter turned up

Whom he didn’t know he had
And didn’t want and who left

And drowned herself by jumping
From the bridge like Berryman

Did the same year and almost
The same place and I remember

Jack’s look of disbelief when
He heard the news, and this is

All I have: the scene and the
Sunlight and the moonlight

And stars and last time we
Made love on the bed in this

Room and sighs and moans
And the long cold afternoons.