Today's poem is by Emily Tian

Keeping the Living Alive
       

By saying things like, We'll get going,
or Did you expect such hot days ahead,
or I forgot that you would be here,
I was meaning to call.
Language is a loose skin
thrown over who you love.
And when they leave, you get to choose.
The I could be no one.
The you could be no one—
say: the wind was here before us and
blew the whole stanza apart.
Out there, though, the same lines
don't run on forever.
Already behind you is a dim Sunday
spent among slices of napoleon
and Sacher torte, as everyone in the pastry shop
is shouting, who knows if it began
with the five Italians on holiday
or the waitress calling after
someone who has already gone.

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Copyright © 2023 Emily Tian All rights reserved
from The Cincinnati Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission