November again,

And the soft ice had been returned

By a low sun. I’d learned

Nothing: the same street turned early

To dark; the man bitter

From glasses of pearly Champagne I’d egged

Him to buy. The lamps begged

Off their halos, cold, pegged me for

That inevitable worn-

Out shame. Tell me, what more could I

Have asked of love but my

Intimacy with blame?

Emily Dorff

Emily Dorff received her MFA in Creative Writing & Writing for the Performing Arts from the University of California, Riverside. She has presented at the “Writing Our Future” program at the Los Angeles Public Library Downtown and is currently a board member for the Saskatoon Writers’ Collective. Her work has most recently appeared in the literary journal FreeFall.

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