Sunday Afternoons

The life of a writer is full of little ironies and juxtapositions. We must be magnets that draw those coincidental events and experiences. Anyway, I was editing a new writer’s manuscript, and listening to Zipless by Vanessa Daou, when I heard this song, which I recognized as a poem of Erica Jong.  Here it is. Appropriately, it is called, “Sunday Afternoons.” Though written from a female point of view, I still can identify with some of the lines.
Sunday Afternoons

I sit at home
at my desk alone
as I used to do
on many sunday afternoons
when you came back to me,
your arms ached for me,
and your arms would close me in
though they smelled of other women.

I think of you
on Sunday afternoons.

Your sweet head would bow,
like a child somehow,
down to me –
and your hair and your eyes were wild.

We would embrace on the floor-
You see my back´s still sore.
You knew how easily I bruised,
It´s a soreness I would never lose.

I think of you
on Sunday afternoons.