For Rachel

Michelle de Savigny

You do not mar the surface of the snow
with your bare feet. You do not startle
the nuthatch scratching for seeds;
jacketed dogs do not turn their heads
as you pass. You lean your face against
a white trunk and your wide cheek
makes no mark. You do not know
I see you everywhere, hiding
beneath your quiet torrent of hair.
You banished yourself from this world,
but I see you, sitting with Auden on a bench
in Sakura Park. There you are on Broadway,
buying cigarettes at the kiosk, face floating,
a wry moon in morning light.

Michelle de Savigny took her first poetry workshop with the late Rachel Wetzsteon at the 92nd Street Y Unterberg Poetry Center.