You Were Mine

By Caroline Misner

Does the fog outside the window

ferret a lingering death?

I don’t know.

The snow has caked its crystals

to a deep lustre,

the night has hardened with rain

that will thicken to sleet by morning.


But all is good,

the world is ripe with new disasters

that will be forgotten in a hundred years,

just as the blisters of the past

have been deleted.


You were mine!

You were mine, small sinner,

the day you squirmed from me like an eel.

We all stood round you and wept,

wept because you wept.

I tried,

I tried to feed you with my body

but neither of us

would put up with that.


So eighteen years later, this

is how we meet—embracing,

declaring our love for one another;

now neither of us

has the courage to weep


A dull ember flickers

in the hearth and dies,

in a haloey shadow of gas.

It is not real.

You offer words of comfort

and I believe them.

you’ve left me nothing

else to believe in.


Love hauled me away.

Sometimes, I think, I should

have never loved you at all.

Then it would be easy.

What a pitiful thing love should be.

For every drop I’ve squandered, I’ve received

an equal drop of pain, remorse:

a two sided coin I toss

and catch,

every day, and hope

the right side

will land.




Caroline was born in a country that at the time was known as Czechoslovakia. She immigrated to Canada in the summer of 1969. Her work has appeared in numerous consumer and literary journals in Canada, the USA and the UK, most notably “The Windsor Review”, “Prairie Journal” and “Dreamcatcher”. Her work can be viewed on line at, and Her short story “Strange Fruit” was nominated for the

Writers’ Trust/McClelland-Steward Journey Anthology Prize in 2008. In the autumn of 2010, her poem “Piano Lesson” was nominated for The Pushcart Prize. She currently lives in Georgetown Ontario where she continues to read, write and follow her muse, wherever it may take her.

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