When we met she was going in, I was going out;
Maybe it was always that way for the two of us;
I don't know what she saw in my face that she liked;
I liked the way her skin lay unlined, waiting for the plot
To unravel. I wanted in on the action. Oh, Emily!
Second act: we stood waiting for cupcakes in the
West Village. All the sweet girls who cuddled Sugar
Daddies had figures in mind: If the cake is stale but
The frosting is fresh does that make up for everything?
I would have stepped in front of a bullet for her.
In the intermission she grew older I grew younger and I
Reached out to her like God does on the Sistine ceiling.
If only there weren't those goddamned jobs and buses, alarms
And Hotjobs and all those saints and prophets with
Their names on the right lists at the right places.
The last time I saw her (Oh Emily) was there. She was going
Out and didn't notice me. She looked like Judith when the
Head fell Eve when the apple Lot's wife Mary Oh Emily!
There were so many truths I was responsible for and I had
Failed her. Girlchild--you deserved a Father. Oh, Emily.
Emily by Judy Schilling
