End Words

        in memory of Reetika Vazirani (1962-2003) and Rachel Wetzsteon (1967-2009)
 
Sewanee, Tennessee. 
Summer of '96, I went there for 
booze and poetry and rest. 
I danced a little dance; 
I talked a little shop. 
I forgot a recent ghost.  

"Invitation to a Ghost" 
was my favorite poem in Tennessee. 
And Justice taught my workshop. 
(God love him, he called me decadent for 
ending a line with an anapest.) At the dance 
party with Allison and the rest  

of the poets from Rebel's Rest, 
ambition was the ghost 
unseen, but always in attendance. 
And I misplaced my faith in Tennessee, 
upon a hill: I gave an undergrad what-for 
after priming him with lines of Bishop.  

Gossip is another word for talking shop. 
But Rachel, sharper than the rest, 
winner of things I hoped for, 
was above all that, like a charming host. 
She spoke of posterity in Tennessee. 
And every day felt like a dance  

preparing us for a bigger dance. 
In the bookstore, I pretended to shop 
with Reetika, Rachel's roommate in Tennessee, 
wicked-funny and stunning and rest- 
less. We flirted like we stood a ghost 
of a chance. I was twenty-four.  

I wonder now what it's all been for: 
that summer; the words; the awful dance 
that followed. So many ghosts. 
Let the muses close the horror shop. 
Let Rachel and Reetika rest. 
—Years ago, there was Tennessee.