Spring 2009

Table of Contents - Vol. V, No. 1


Poetry     Interview     Translations     Fiction     Book Reviews

Dawn Dupler


Something I Would Have Remembered Saying

I did not say to him, “I love you.”
I may have mentioned how nicely
His suit matched his tie,

Or how brushing against his tight pecs
Submerged my senses. But, “I love you?”
That I would have remembered

Like the soldier who first made me surrender,
An olive-skinned, dark-maned lover
Whose solid hands turned my bed into a bema.

Perhaps I have been want for intimacy,
Something soft and whispery
Capable of consuming blue flames.

But I no longer attend those quick-fuck carnivals
Whose all-hard, all-the-time, lotharios
Require no ticket, no green, for admittance.

They say, “I love you” while opening a can of beer.
And happily do so again following a zephyr,
Something I could create by opening a window.

By metaphor did I say what he heard?
A touch to his shoulder? A sigh too strong?
Roiled with emotion I could have uttered a confession.

But not that. I lie with the sun in my eyes.
Into the penumbra a gray circling hawk laughs.
How I would have remembered telling him, “I love you.”


© Dawn Dupler



Poetry     Interview     Translations     Fiction     Book Reviews

Website Copyright © 2009 by Loch Raven Review.

Copyright Notice and Terms of Use: This website contains copyrighted materials, including, but not limited to, text, photographs, and graphics. You may not use, copy, publish, upload, download, post to a bulletin board. or otherwise transmit, distribute, or modify any contents of this website in any way, except that you may download one copy of such contents on any single computer for your own personal non-commercial use, provided you do not alter or remove any copyright, poet, author, or artist attribution, or any other proprietary notices.