by Charles Simic
In my youth, women often took me aside
And told me I reminded them of
A dead brother, an uncle, a late lover.
Some of them wore beards.
One lay with slashed wrists in a tub.
Another of my doubles had gone for a walk
And never came back from the woods.
It was evening; it was long ago, of course.
One played the piano beautifully
So that strangers knocked on his door.
Another went for a ride in a balloon.
The last time anyone saw me alive:
I was either wearing dark glasses
And reading the Bible on the subway,
Or crossing the street and laughing to myself.
-from That Little Something
