So good to lose oneself
in someone else—
rewrite her to fit.
I see myself
on that doorstep in Austria.
Heavy wooden door.
Bronze lion knocker, or is it a griffin?
The pitted concrete steps are tall and wide.
The missing fact lives here.
Any minute now I’ll know.
Lately I seem to be
dressing like her,
the dark colors and the scarves.
The silver pin.
Things I loved: Escher stairwells,
trompe l’oeil,
the double mirrors of barbershops
and their infinite reflections.
Things that disappear into themselves.
I’m waiting here in silence
on the other side of the wall,
hoping she’ll find me.
in someone else—
rewrite her to fit.
I see myself
on that doorstep in Austria.
Heavy wooden door.
Bronze lion knocker, or is it a griffin?
The pitted concrete steps are tall and wide.
The missing fact lives here.
Any minute now I’ll know.
Lately I seem to be
dressing like her,
the dark colors and the scarves.
The silver pin.
Things I loved: Escher stairwells,
trompe l’oeil,
the double mirrors of barbershops
and their infinite reflections.
Things that disappear into themselves.
I’m waiting here in silence
on the other side of the wall,
hoping she’ll find me.
Journals publishing Janet McCann’s work include Kansas Quarterly, Parnassus, Nimrod, Sou'wester, America, Christian Century, Christianity and Literature, New York Quarterly, Tendril, and others. A 1989 NEA Creative Writing Fellowship winner, she taught at Texas A&M University from 1969 until 2015, and is now Professor Emerita. She has co-edited anthologies with David Craig and written three poetry books and six chapbooks. Her most recent poetry book is The Crone at The Casino (Lamar University Press, 2014). She also has co-authored two textbooks and written a book on Wallace Stevens (Wallace Stevens: The Celestial Possible, Twayne, 1996). She lives in College Station, Texas with her dogs, Marple and Poirot.