THE MAD GIRL STILL SMELLS WINTER IN HER HAIR
Lyn Lifshin

staggers out of Dr. Zhivago.
The light on Main St is blinding,
the snow glaze pulling her back
into the snow falling in Moscow.
No matter it will be hours before
the sky turns black velvet, wars
still in this distance. Terror as
frozen as the whole unending  
plains. Only past memories  
comforting as a fur muff, deep
blankets. Loss, an iceberg
under her hair as she moves
into darkness alone without the  
one she’d give everything that
mattered into black pines as
if this heart of darkness
could soothe her

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YEARS LATER THE MAD GIRL REMEMBERS THE SMELL OF THE SUN
Lyn Lifshin

on her skin and hair in the
gardens braided to the  
Alhambra, how rivulets  
lapped the green jars
as hope moved against
her body. She was so
young her hair was too
thick to fit in a clasp,
her body taut, gorgeous
from whatever angle  
you’d chose. Her cheeks,
rose as the flowers
she never learned the
name of climbing trellises
that afternoon he called
to her in a language she’d
never heard before and
now is sure she won’t
again

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Lyn Lifshin has published over 130 books and chapbooks including three from Black Press: Cold Comfort, Before it’s Light, and Another Woman who Looks Like Me. Recent books include: Secretariat: The Red Freak, The Miracle; Knife Edge & Absinthe: the Tango Poems; Malala; A Girl Goes into the Woods; Femme Eterna; Little Dancer: The Degas Poems and #alivelikealoadedgun. She edited 3 anthologies: Tangled Vines, Lips Unsealed, and Ariadne’s Thread. Her web: www.lynlifshin.com