I COULD NOT KNOW THEN

in the honeycomb moon or pine sap
lacing our breath below the zodiac
that, one day, I would have to camp
in the meadow without you;
to find in the cooing brook
below Grand Castle
a way to hear something other than
regret; and in the crinkle of aspen,
their leaves gone yellow and sere,
something other than your body.

 

 

 

 

 

A DOCTOR NOW

At our table, the untouched
deli meat transposes

the burst blood vessel
of memory into surprise,

into doomed melody of me—
the ex-boyfriend—wishing

lunch meant dinner
and all her blinks meant:

Let’s drive. Let’s lie there
forever on that sand dune.

And yet, we’re here, in the deli,
shamed by multiple abrasions

from the rapid-pulse years,
half listening, half stares.

She works the ER;
her step-daughter defies;

her husband doesn’t wander;
she dreams in undergraduate French.

Her mouth hasn’t changed at all,
but her scar is new—

the pink jagged dash
below a chapped palm

divulging the hushed reason
she wears these scrubs now.

We talk of Chopin,
and love is sustained

in new eye wrinkles
as we relate the black

notes of years apart
and Prelude No. 7 vibrates the café.

 

 

 

 

 

Matthew Ivan Bennett serves as the resident playwright at Plan-B Theatre in Salt Lake City. He’s premiered seven stage plays with the company, and his radio adaptation of Sleepy Hollow will premiere on KUER in October 2021. Twice he’s contributed to the Great Plains Theatre Commons and has been a finalist at the O’Neill. His poetry has been published in Sugar House Review, Western Humanities, and Utah Life. 

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