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Poems


La Bohême, Act IV

In memory of Miguel Garcia-Tuñon, 1962 - 1989

I was not there when you died,
did not hear your last breaths,
or glance at the others in the room,
or close my eyes and try to remember
how to pray. Eight years later,
surrounded by darkness and
the sniffles of the elderly women
in the second tier at a Sunday matinee,
I think of you. Mimi coughs
on her garrett bed, her friends
sing their anguish, I still think
of you. I wish I had been there
to say goodbye, wish you had
wanted me as near as Mimi
wants Rudolfo, wish I could have
made peace with you somehow,
in spite of my failings.


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