Another Ending by Suzanne Roberts after Ruth Stone At the end of the poem, the lovers are in the hotel room—the man has returned, the last line dwells on his cock, rising to the heavens. But it seems to me, the real ending is that the woman once again lies in the wide bed alone. I can see her through the creases in the blinds, there in the empty-walled room, the dusky shadows trace across her body like bars, the starched sheets tangled at her ankles. She is smoking a cigarette. He has returned home to his wife. Gone, the ache, that loose-limbed desire, replaced by an empty suitcase she will refill and carry home. theMeadow 123
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy ODQ3NA==