Poem 218 ± January 8, 2016

Lisa Andrews
Your Stories

I did not think the book of you would be done so soon.
I saw you as endless—multivolume, a set. You were the novel,
the book to which I could always turn, a story I could open
on any page, the way they say old friends can always continue
the conversation, pick up wherever they’ve left off, the way
that afternoon in the sudden rain, you welcomed us as if
you’d been expecting us all along, and the heavy rain
had been no accident at all, but a plot device, so that we
might sit by your fire and listen, as you told us your latest story—
screenplay, science fiction or script—back when all of us were young,
and I was almost careless in the driven rain.

Lisa AndrewsLisa Andrews is the author of Dear Liz, forthcoming in spring 2016 from Indolent Books. Her poems have appeared in Gargoyle, Mudfish, Painted Bride Quarterly and Zone 3. While completing her MFA at NYU, Lisa worked with poetry students at Goldwater Hospital and Bayview Correctional Facility and taught in the Expository Writing Program. Chosen by Dael Orlandersmith as a recipient of the New Voice Poetry Award from the Writer’s Voice of the West Side YMCA, Lisa has had residencies at Blue Mountain Center, the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts and the Vermont Studio Center. She lives in Brooklyn with her husband, artist Tony Geiger.

This poem is not previously published.