Ages
after
I had put behind
Showalter, Woolf, Plath and Rich,
I encounter you.
And
everything about you
is a reminder
of what they were
and that I could never be.
Who was the woman
I had found
during my years of
the pheremone?
The woman,
later nurtured
destroyed
and abandoned for you
to come by
and gather
into a mosiac
from bits and particles.
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