The Girl In New York

She was Lebanese   clever   strongly made

I with important work and a big head

words woven in harmonious brocade

won’t bring her back to life   for she is dead

she killed herself    and since I was obtuse

regret lingers though I atone with tears

for we met for coffee   talk was no use

I know now at an age when all coheres

when I heard she was dead I was shamed

I’d sensed her despair but did not reach out

gave nothing of myself   though as yet unclaimed

except by ambition and nagging doubt

she is dead   beyond questions   beyond love

my work!   so what was I so afraid of?

©  Dick Russell, 2012