For Peter Lake.


I still see you — haze of tweed, loafers, and cake

running towards the pub, rain pelting your back,

hair already fading white when I blew out the candles

how does it feel to be young; I could not answer


that night — noise, free beers, every man watching

me in red, a dress you bought but, I could only

see you, so handsome with your face alcohol-lit,

you, who quoted Cocteau, Whitman, Proust,

carried me home in the storm and laid me down


in your quiet room, four o’clock, I woke to puke;

found you on the couch, chest rising tiredly under

the weight of a book; I wrapped you in a quilt and

said a prayer — for longevity, past the red dress,

past numbering candles, to when I am wrapped

in a blanket, book on my lap, grey in my hair.


Jacqueline Thomas is a Literature major with a Creative Writing focus at Ramapo College of New Jersey. She intends to continue on to a Graduate-PhD program and receive her PhD in Comparative Literature.

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