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Sally Lipton Derringer, Poetry

I don’t ask for much:
a few words,
a rented intimacy.

Even without the room,
her eyelids waiting to be closed,
you can imagine

the unmothering, its stark

perfection. You’ve occupied
these kinds of rooms, done your own
borrowing and giving back.

I don’t ask for much:
a conversation,
a form of permanence that I
can hold until it’s gone.