08/14/2013

He stood backlit
by windows full of winter,
a shade thrown over his face.
What a waste, I thought.
What relief.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This poem occurred to me in the moment it describes: the last look back at a lover. What I intended to be the last, anyway. . . . Afterwards on the train ride home I wrote the first draft in a notebook.

BIO:

Jameson Fitzpatrick lives in New York, where he’s an MFA candidate at New York University and the book columnist for Next Magazine. Recent work has appeared in The Awl, The Los Angeles Review, The Collagist, and Linebreak.
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