The congealed snow
of an old love affair.

A fistful of water--
& my hand closed
to contain you.

Still,
you leak through.

Where have you gone to?
What spring has thawed
the ice around my heart?

Old refrigerator
with your door pried off,
you bake in the sun.

I open my hand
& my palm gleams pink
as a peppermint lozenge.

There are dry old riverbeds,
a lifeline
deep as sleep.

There are beads of sweat--
all mine.

There is no more trace
of you.

© Erica Mann Jong

Read more poems by Erica Jong