Article: Er.(Poem)

 
For Edmund White 
 
   I hesitate to mention now the time 
   I hesitated--was it weeks or months?--Before 
   telling him I was leaving, leaving for good, 
   So that, in the end, it was he who left me, 
   And my fear of his decision, or no ... well, 
   His tonelessly announcing it one night, 
   Only that, always that, has clouded the scene, 
   Not unlike the way the years of happiness 
   Until that day, all of them a delusion, 
   Had prevented my recalling just how long 
   I'd waited to discover my feelings at the start. 
   Two weeks--no, less--on my own, the secret 
   Phone calls, a rented post office box, 
   The desperate joking, the passionate or-elses, 
   Seemed ...

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