So Who Was She?
by Michael Feld Simon
Reading Dusan (Charles )Simic and being reminded of Paul

First it was his twisted humor,
his way of looking, explaining
how the beauty of light made
insomnia longer, then it was his poem
about a white glove that triggered memories
of seeing the shoe, two single gloves,
and later a woman’s undergarments dropped
along the trail. “Happens all the time,”
you casually remarked. Leaving me to wonder
was your trail out of the wilderness
marked not by breadcrumbs, but by
panties and lacy things?



 

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