Two Poems by Austen Leah Rosenfeld
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MEMORIES OF A TIME WE DON'T REMEMBER
We hadn’t brushed our teeth or combed our hair
when we found ourselves
deposited at the door of the world
like an unmarked package.
The sky was grey so we were unable to discern time passing.
It might have been hours
or maybe years. We alone held the key to a room we would never find;
the map of a country that no longer exists.
Although we tried;
sipping coffee and brainstorming, comparing pie charts,
sitting through endless therapy sessions.
We even considered writing a memoir.
It’s like the story about the girl who picks stars from the sky
and gathers them in her skirt.
A story about our wish to hold things
that can’t be held.
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DINNER PARTY IN OUTER SPACE
How did you arrive here
with your own fork
and white plate, placed
on a white tablecloth in front of you.
Across is a woman,
tall with a wide face.
She looks like somebody’s mother.
Others are lifting up and down
their wine glasses,
discussing ordinary topics
like current seasonal vegetables.
No one seems to notice you are in outer space,
and that alone is something worth talking about.
You concentrate on the dishes passed around,
the momentary gleam of knives
like knowing smiles.
Your aloneness is devastating.
Only eye contact like thin, withering rope
keeps you from falling out of orbit.
Some of the other members of the table
are getting along quite well.
Two are even considering marriage.
Another man and woman are enjoying each other
without romantic undertones.
You seal yourself
airtight. Your heart grows louder
beating in blue-black space.
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