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Robin Bacior
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Ohio
Met a boy from Ohio;
who through the cold winter burned me alive,
just like my ex-man used to.
When I'd howl through the eyes at his window;
watch his lamp flicker,
wait to see him bring a her home with him.
I'd stay through the night 'til the sun showed up.
But that's all springs behind.
Yet there are times, there are times,
I get uneasy in the lamplight.
Before it's even morning,
we make toward Vermont.
I'm couped in the backseat,
furthermore the northeast.
Like birds we sing of our old coats and rings,
when we were separate things.
Then to the third floor to rest our wings.
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And the past dies off in the dark.
There are times, there are times,
I get uneasy in the lamplight.
I picture leavin',
but wake and haven't yet.
Just now a song comes on I used to listen to out West.
Oh I'd play it like a candle lit,
not just to fill the air,
but to make it oh so sacred instead.
The memory is like a bulb bursting above my head.
Above my head.
There are times, these are times,
I am nearing toward the lamplight.
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