by Richard Stolorow
Somewhere from his law exacting heart
and practical albeit car-camping mind
because we were in Canada and might canoe
he had me ask them what the correction was
for the magnetic pole. I felt the fool
and suffered his pretense and set up tent
and drank and ate and slept
in the glorious north country.
I loved him still, like the mist
settling on the lake at dusk
though privately I scoffed, his constant toys—
the car, the boat, the blonde. I admit
I envied him and struggled with philosophy.
What was happiness after all?
Adrift in my simpler life I reached
for notions that would secure me.
I couldn’t hold them and still love.
Something invisible drew me out of true.
And there was no correction.
Richard Stolorow has worked as an English teacher, handyman,
concierge, and book clerk. His fiction and poetry have been published
in a dozen or so literary magazines. He currently lives in Providence,
◄ Previous Page Apple Valley Review, Fall 2007 Next page ►
Apple Valley Review:
A Journal of Contemporary
Volume 2, Number 2
Copyright © 2007
by Leah Browning, Editor.
All future rights to material
published in the Apple
Valley Review are retained
by the individual authors