from my wee bonny 16-year-old girlhood.
Instant coffee with slightly sour cream
in it, and a phone call to the beyond
which doesn’t seem to be coming nearer.
“Ah daddy, I wanna stay drunk many days”
on the poetry of a new friend
my life held precariously in the seeing
hands of others, their and my impossibilities.
Is this love, now that the first love
has finally died, where there were no impossibilities?
Frank O’Hara, 1964