A Woman of Thirty

by Marjorie Allen Seiffert

(I never dreamed
There was a You
That does not love me!)

Tonight they met.

I hear their words
Falling like icicles
Upon me…
I am frozen in terror…
Have they killed the You
That Loves me?

Beloved, can you hear me
Through the bitter sound
Of icicles falling?
Can you see me from behind
Your frozen eyes?

Last Days

I

Shall I pretend
These days are just like other days?
One cannot spend
Every day for seven weeks
Saying good-bye.

So when I must
I speak of your departure casually
As though it were a hundred years away;
As Youth is wont to say:
"Sometime we all must die!"

II

We talk of all the happy things we have done,
We pass them in review,
"Do you remember?" is often on our lips.