When you dumped me, he e-mailed to her:

said ″let′s just be friends″,

I went on a diet:

saturated fat smothering simple carbohydrates

washed down with a Guinness or two or three,

topped off with a Quaalude  . . . slept soundly.

Tried to stop thinking of your breath on my neck

when I kissed yours, the smooth skin my fingers

traveled, shoulder to shoulder, down your spine.

I thought I should stop thinking of your soft breasts

pressed up against me or cupped in my hands when

you’d turn in the night; your brown hair lost in the pillow.

Tried to forget your form drenched in moonlight

through an undraped window, your silhouette

in soft glow passing the bathroom door.

Tried to put out of my mind the lazy couch-sitting

after hours of work, our legs intertwined, sharing

our dinners, watching Turner Classics.

I have stopped thinking about how familiar

you were to me, as if you were mine,

could tell you anything.

The problem is my dear, should you think

of returning, I’ve decided to move on . . .

started a new diet.

Kathaleen Donnelly is a 1976 graduate of St.Vincent’s Hospital, School of Nursing in Greenwich Village, NYC and currently works at Stony Brook Medical Center as a Nurse Practitioner in Cardiology.  With a little help from her friends, she compiled Paumanok, Poems and Pictures of Long Island, then later, Paumanok, Interwoven and Paumanok, Transition.