He Tells You About the Dress You Wore

Every few years he calls from
someplace new, a better job

with free long-distance, offering
a memory, a sort of kindness you

can't repay, voice from the dark
bringing back tight yellow satin,

lights switched out in the stilled
gymnasium, somewhere under

bleachers matching yellow shoes
you don't know how to grope for,

turned as you are, listening to
another dark, voice like water but

thicker, leading you barefoot out
of the locked building into the fire.

Copyright © 2009 Debra Nystrom All rights reserved
from Bad River Roads
Sarabande Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission