I Don’t Think Of You Much Anymore

by Sarah Jane Souther

I don’t think of you much anymore

I think of other things

Of the dawn on the daffodils 

And dew on the grass

I think of the robin’s blue eggs in the nest.

But most of all, I think of him

Walking to me on an April afternoon

And I think of the way he laughs in the dark

Of his eyes on mine and 

How the stars could never beat that kind of light

Soul-light in the half-light 

Never felt so bright 

Never made anything or anyone so warm 

Warm like this

Like us

I don’t think of you much anymore 

I don’t think of the sounds of your footfalls on the stairs

I don’t think of the river or the red rooftops or the roses

I don’t think of that shuddering crash that first love makes when it falls

I think instead of firebirds

Of the smell of ashes after it rains

Of how all kinds of flames 

Are put out by simple time passing

And how I rose back up from

Embers long gone cold

I don’t think of you much anymore

Only at midnight

Only when I trace that charred place

You unknowingly burned in my heart

Hot metal, summer’s infatuation 

Did the trick

What a kick

When I speak of you now it’s no more than

An elevator-pitch

But everything gets softer at twenty-six