Poetry Issue 15

   Issue #17 : July-December 2012

Seth Abramson


      In January a man walks out
                   on a woman and child. In February
      there’s a letter—
                   unrelated to the woman and child
      but everything to do
      with January. Sometimes letters accumulate,

      sometimes they are created. And sometimes
      none of them
      are read. But sometimes a man and a letter
      share the same future,
      and sometimes a woman and child do not.
      It is all right not to speculate, it is all right
                   for the future

                   to be a proof
      of the past. It is all right to walk away from
      the sum but not the parts.
      Or burn all together. Or create all together.
      It is not all right
      when men don’t know what it is they hold
      in their hands. Sometimes a child,
      sometimes a woman. Sometimes nothing.
      Often nothing. And often
      a man walks out on a possible life,
      and often the past and future are, after all,
                   separate proofs.