Parade of Old Loves
Every night a different one returns:
his hair loopy curls or shorn
to velvet or in lanks or shiny bald,
he comes to me real as ever.
And I am utterly convinced each one
is the one who put this baby in me.
I take it as a retrospective show:
How things might have been—
This one's flat black eyes
on me again and me the same woman
I was once—as cold as he was hard.
I'm only waiting now to dream the one
I was all earth and warm for,
the one I lost with my belief.
I'll take this as my chance to retrieve
each part of me I loaned.
Come on guys, sure I'll say the baby's yours,
I'll make it bouncy, shining, golden just for you—
if only you bring it back, bring it all back,
so when I give this time, my gift is whole.
Heid E. Erdrich
—from The Mother’s Tongue
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