I know exactly 
what's wrong 
though I say nothing. Reticence 

is an art, surprising me 
as I fumble with knives 
and everything else, scarred 
from years of being inept 
yet still cooking. 

I think of creamy daphne 
opening in the cold weeks of spring 
for her display 

of staying power, 
the ridiculous bravery of that 

scent, tangible petals opening 
an invisible letter--- me, I know 
so many meager things, 
when to be silent, 
when to go. 
 

When I See
 
 

When I see your ear 
I want to touch it 
or draw it 
or trace it with my pencil, nothing 
sharp, only my tongue. 

Yesterday you spoke of me 
being your last lover 
though you said you would not 
be my last. Were you speaking 
of death, betrayal, fate? I couldn't hear 
what you meant. I was looking at your ear. 

Your beard 
touches your face 
all day 
but I 
only have 
a few minutes. 

There's the age difference, 
the past addiction, 
the economic gap. So many 
things, like a spilt box of matches 
in my hands, all going 
different ways, ready to go off. 
Only one 
flames its way into my hair, 
a brighter red, the thing 
that catches your eye. 

Now you're painting 
landscapes, the biggest challenge, 
you say. Maybe I wasn't meant 
to hold still for you, to model 
the female body's decline. 
      That's me 
moving through the deep part of the trees, 
that speck you can't see any more 
than you can see 
your own ear.

Here, let me touch it. 
I know just how the shadows go, 
how it feels to move close, 
stay closer. 
 

Cecelia Hagen was Fiction Editor for the Northwest Review for many years. Her work has been published in Portlandia, Exquisite Corpse, Prairie Schooner, Poet & Critic, Puerto del Sol, and in the book, From Where We Speak, an anthology of Oregon poets. She has a chapbook forthcoming at the end of this year from 26 Books Press. Cecelia Hagen is currently the featured poet in Caffeine Destiny.

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Cecelia

 Hagen