FOR DENISE LEVERTOV 1923 -1997 The water felt good and the heat moved down my hair, my shoulders, and thighs in the shower yesterday morning. Through a little window in the Mexican tile I can see through the portal, all the way to the snowy mesa and Tres Orejas. The splashing is pleasing and suddenly I think -- I must call you, find out why my letters have gone unanswered. The absence of (oh the water feels divine, where it streams down my hips) small gifts, Tallis motets and corks from Italy. Packets of poems and arguments never addressed. The mail once brought your curly script and hastily folded notes -- (lots of dashes --- ). Presents. Presence. Oh, taste -- and see -- the snow through the steamy window where I've rubbed a circle with my fist to frame the distant mountain. I must give you a call. The water. The window. My eyes are closed. The feeling of you there while I wash my hair, suds disappearing down the drain. I shut off the water. In a towel, still dripping, I answer the phone. No, it can't be true, I say to the voice. She's here. I mean I was going to call her before the soap had washed away, before the puddles had shrunk to nothing on the cool cool tiles. December 23, 1997   home · resume · recent publications · schedule · technical writing · course offerings list of clients · connecting chord · programs ·  poetry pages · bardic performances · contact Christine Hemp P.O. Box 674 Port Townsend, WA 98368 tel: 360-385-9005