Ann Arbor Review


Geoffrey Philip
Joseph McNair
Chris Lord
Coleman Barks
Dave Etter
Elisavietta Ritchie
Sam Cornish
Duane Locke
Karyn Wolven
Marisella Veiga
Michael D. Long
Running Cub
Joanie Freeman
Alan Britt
Shutta Crum
Steve Beaulieu
Gerald Clark
Mary E. Finlan
Fred Wolven


Again he's used my towel.
Crime easy to detect: tonight
it's wet, and hanging from his rod.
I shower in the morning.

I try to hide my toothbrush, buy
outrageous colors - magenta, fuchsia orange -
still he misplaces his.  At last I've gone electric,
and he distrusts what's wired.

Someday when he's no longer here
I may miss this sharing, meanwhile should
feel gratified he thinks us so much one
our germs unite in every loving cup.

Yet those times he strayed: did he borrow
other women's toothbrushes and towels?
Did he come back to me because in horror they
threw out used toothbrushes and towels and him?


Remembering X, who stopped
medications and discerned
new significance in every thing.

Dill, or Queen Anne's Lace?
Madness may confuse
or mix into bouquets
of such transparency

that like the paring knife
which seemed a useful scimitar

scrimmed eyes can pierce
their airy filigree to peer
into the lily pool
patrolled by crocodiles,

decide if tempered steel
is preferable to ivory.

Elisavietta Ritchie


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