Gemini Magazine
there's so little I love
wildly that if I find
something, I steal it:
a few lines in poems,
or ideas from films,
tips, how a model
doesn't need beauty,
needs a look in her
eye. I've never stolen
anyone's man only
once I stole a wool
gabardine skirt I
never wear, allergic
to wool in a now
defunct Chicago store.
This morning I took
a few extra tea bags,
melon and peach—
where else will I find
them back in the
states? Lately, I've
limited stealing to
moments of grace,
moments of fantasy,
much more scandalous
than a pocket lipstick
tube, color I'd never
wear. If I could steal
the colors at Blue
Spirit Lake I would
but I don't even have a
camera. So I will soak
the early and late
light like the man
who knew blindness
was coming so he
spent the last years he
could see traveling
Europe to memorize
the exact details of all
the Monet paintings,
hoarded them for when
he could only
remember them
by Lyn Lifshin
Lyn Lifshin has written numerous
books of poetry and has edited
four anthologies of poetry by
women. One of her most recent
books is All the Poets Who Have
Touched Me, Living and Dead: All
True, Especially the Lies.