One Hundred Moving Parts of Love  •  poems by lenny dellarocca

She Wasn’t There

This apricot is so full of love I feel it in my hand.
I stole it from
a woman’s table
while she hung her clothes
on a line outside.
Through her window
she looked like a girl
in a painting.
Impossible to tell
where it came from,
that light.
I thought she looked
at me, but it was just
something I read about.
Her dark hair trickled down
like it might be dangerous.
I wanted to steal her clothes. I wanted this lusty
fruit to tattle.
Wanted her to
catch me
in her things
singing to myself
with a broom
in my hands.
But instead I slipped
into her shadow
that she had tied
to a set of knives.
Did I mention
my escape?
A pentimento
of light and shadow—
I was there in the room, and just like that   I was not.

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