The night before. The room Condenses and condenses. She And her closer friend converse About trifles; sunburn. The length Of the day. The Indigo Girls Serenade the dewing. I notice That her desk-chair is gone; In it's place is varnished wood, Shiny in the 1950s style, as if It had been licked with sugar. Oh. The conversation has turned To wistful -- note to note, she Relates a moment on the sidewalk, Where she met a yesterday lover And said goodbye. This is what the room has become: Me and my belongings filling half a gap, A collapsible chair, folding from her seat To a neat pile of wood. The first to praise The sun, the first to praise the moon, she Almost sleeps in the tomorrow car. Oh. Wait. I thought I had finished, But after a moment when they stop speaking, And the other has started to coo the cat, and She stands turned, packing up the computer, I realized I had something left to say.
Accourding to Mytili Jagannathan: Date: Thu, 20 May 1999 14:43:23 -0400 (EDT) From: firstname.lastname@example.org (Mytili Jagannathan) Hi hubverse--I loved reading Hannah's poems for her departing roommate--particularly the double-play on "condensing" as dewing and collapsing, the surprise of trying to imagine a surface "licked with sugar" and also the collapsing of time--the "yesterday lover" and the "tomorrow car" against the oddly stretching, emptying present. Hannah, what a vivid and wonderful sendoff gift! --Mytili