Suzanne Frischkorn

WHILE READING YOUR POEMS

      for D.G.

I walk through your neighborhood,
west, past brownstones
and Korean markets.

You’re sitting in a café, waiting
for another blind date. She arrives
in a green dress, fat, and bitter --
an apple gone wrong.

I see you not see her.
You go home, alone, again.
Here’s where I fall in love.

Soon I’ll save that part for last,
like I do when I masturbate,
stalling the moment,
to prolong the climax.
First I walk with you,

through Long Island, follow
while you kick broken glass,
and give your father the finger.
This is where I turn

to the back of your book,
look at your picture,
and want my lips
against your forehead.
I’m jealous

when I read about Mary --
how her hair
spread on a pillow
would be enough for you.

I hear the snap of cards,
watch the dealer slap them
on the table. The part
that sends me over though,
is the last bit, about ice,
and how it holds together.

Location:	Connecticut
Email:	sfrischkorn@hotmail.com
Publications:	Pif Magazine, The Pedestal Magazine, Exquisite Corpse, In Posse Review, La Petite Zine, Wisconsin Review, Mangrove, Paterson Literary Review, JAMA, Salt River Review.
Books:	The Tactile Sense, Exhale
Awards:	Finalist 2001 Allen Ginsberg Poetry Awards, Three time winner of the Sundress Poetry Slam, First Place Kookamonga Square Annual Spring Contest, Poetry Superhighway 2000 Honorable Mention Individual Poet's Pages

Naming what it comes to / october The Porch the difference between tea Hand in Hand The Blown Fuse Death Poem Moth While Reading Your Poems A Cat's Lives Day of Reckoning my cousin jesse lee On Moving Out Math in Leon County Turning Sixty Five in Montana Knowing Fire On the Occasion of My Cat's First Birthday Directions Evidence to the Contrary

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