Lisa Marie Oliver

BROKEN DUPLEX WITH DORMANT CINDER CONE

Part of the cinder cone has been cut away:
ash, volcanic clinkers, dark moonscape,

night moonscape, don’t let me forget, we held
hands at the conical hill, new lovers.

Anyone could tell we were new lovers, how we
touched arms, wrists, shoulders, vertebrae.

how you touched my necklace, don’t let me forget.
When I told you about cinder cones

you said only four in the city, when I told you
about ash, grief, missing, everyone

could tell we were new lovers. Missing you
I wrote these poems about death

thinking I might die soon after. Not saved
by love, not by family, by my kid, not friends,

not God. Just poetry, that saved. Don’t let me
forget. The cinder cone, the cutting away.