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- POEM: Chance Meeting
- By Susan Browne
- I know him, that man
- walking- toward me up the crowded street
- of the city, I have lived with him
- seven years now, I know his fast stride,
- his windy wheatfield hair, his hands thrust
- deep in his jacket pockets, hands
- that have known my body, touched
- its softest part, caused its quick shudders
- and slow releasings, I have seen his face
- above my face, his mouth smiling, moaning
- his eyes closed and opened, I have studied
- his eyes, the brown turning gold at the centers,
- I have silently watched him lying beside me
- in the early morning, I know his loneliness,
- like mine, human and sad,
- but different, too, his private pain
- and pleasure I can never enter even as he comes
- closer, past trees and cars, trash and flowers,
- steam rising from the manhole covers,
- gutters running with rain, he lifts his head,
- he sees me, we are strangers again,
- and a rending music of desire and loss—
- I don’t know him—courses through me,
- and we kiss and say, It’s good to see you,
- as if we haven’t seen each other in years
- when it was just a few hours ago,
- and we are shy, then, not knowing
- what to say next.
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