History drew me. It had a face.
Pale and angular with a curved beak.
Someone from the gallery of photographs
lining my grandfather's hall.
To begin with, I wanted to talk to him.
The corner table received us, two large animals
in a dinner booth composed entirely of light,
the Jack of Blue Matter,
sitting across from me in the unknown air.
Long after dark we walked south along the avenue
like a couple of drunks.
Once every few months we met for dinner.
Then the long quiet interval of years
between us. Improbable.
The Wedding Party
Deborah Landau

The Wedding Party

Deborah Landau

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