David Crohn

I Know Where You’ve Gone

Didn’t I make a nice spread for all of you? I did. I watch you, with your temporary names and bodies, mingle and hover and talk about why you are here and who you are here for, or about other things. Sometimes you shut your mouths. That’s fine too. I put cocktail napkins in your hands, and you cradle finger foods. I gave you coffee and tea, wine and beer, pastrami and challah and babka. Two babkas, in fact—one cinnamon and one chocolate. It was all there waiting for you when you drove here in ones and twos and threes and fours from the field of stones, where we lowered her into the ground, all of us together, where I will keep her and she will not mind the cold.

David Crohn

David Crohn is an MFA student and writing teacher at the City College of New York. His work has been published in downandoutmag.com and FastForwardFest.com and is forthcoming from Apocrypha and Abstractions and Poiesis. He can be reached at dcrohn@gmail.com.