What You Want by Joan Johnston,
This morning I dream his face
is on a sheet of postage stamps
sticking inside my eyelids as I wake.
I lick my lips, slip my arms
into his wedding jacket;
the torn lining is covered
with our life in pictures.
I'm going to speak with his lisp
all day; then whisper the syllables,
separate the vowels of our names.
"Joan's poems are thoughtful and revealing with a deceptively light touch."