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Poetry by Lyn Lifshin 

Lyn is an accomplished poet, responsible for over 100 books, including The Licorice Daughter: My Year With Ruffian, which won the Texas Review Award.  Winner of the Jack Kerouac Award, among others, she's been Poet In Residence at a few colleges, taught writing courses, and has been editor for four women writers anthologies.



© 2007 Lyn Lifshin




(from the Rapple Drive poems)





Here, with the cat

on my feet


and fire, mango tea


Those days, when I

first started writing,


each tumble weed

a jewel.  I couldn't


imagine lovers against

the kitchen shelf,


succulents from New

Mexico, Arizona


less succulent

than I was but how


could I know, untouched,

sure I was untouchable







they sold her dead

sister's car, turned

over the house key.

Her grief thru E-

Mail stuns. Never

close but not

estranged, that word

with such a foreign

sound. "Estranged."

The past. What

I might think as such

news as if had a

sister. There and not

there like a lover

who, it always was,

like talking to

someone in a coffin








when the cat, the

only warmth jolts up,

her claws knives,

somehow you turn

on the lights. Flames

lick skin just beginning

to grow after a tree

tore all but blood,

spotted red, a warning.

The only color that

isn't blue black

as fog and rain

move in






All work is property of Lyn Lifshin.




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