Dream of the Old Boyfriend

In the dream of the old boyfriend
and the library where they loved me
they don't remember me anymore and Boris
seems to think he's the one who loved less
and here it is the anniversary
of the first time we had sex

In the library the bookshelves that were mine
are infested with other librarians fatly taking the books down.
I am sad in the elevator -- where is my friend, with the one long braid?
No I am in bed with Boris -- here is my body to tell him, to say

how I've never loved another the way I loved him.
He is painting with colored pencils. His ambition
has eclipsed mine; he wants more than weak knees
when I come in the room. He has left the poem

and I am dreaming of my grandmother's house.
I am all alone there and the forest
is growing around me

Jessy Randall

If you've any comments on her poems, Jessy Randall would be pleased to hear from you.