“Let Me Tell You Something” by Nonnie Augustine

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Let Me Tell You Something

If you think by your death you have left me alone to pine, to regret, to watch cable TV, you’re wrong. At bedtime I wear a new black lace gown and arrange myself to advantage on sheets finer than any we shared. I’ve left the back door open. I believe I thrum.  I hear his step and then we begin.

He attends to that place below my ears, knows how to rub and nip. There is time for my breasts, time for him to stoke me, each inch until my supple back arches, reaches, pleads, demands his weight. We twist, turn, lift, sate, shout, pound pillows, laugh.

Then something, a noise? I wake, on my side of our quiet bed, my short white hair mussed, our gray cat stretched along my pale, restless thigh.

About the Author
Nonnie Augustine’s poetry collection, “One Day Tells its Tale to Another,” was named to Kirkus Reviews “Best Indie Books of 2013.” Her writing has appeared in PANK, Amsterdam Quarterly, Blue Fifth Quarterly, Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Olentangy Review, Revolution John, Camroc Review, Mojave River Review and elsewhere. Nonnie was poetry editor of The Linnet’s Wings for seven years. Former lives: dancer with a degree from Juilliard, special education teacher, good waitress, bad secretary.
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