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