Incrementally
I clean unearthing a clear
space on the table.
Disorganized
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Incrementally
I clean unearthing a clear
space on the table.
Incrementally
I clean unearthing a clear
space on the table.
Now that the snow is
gone, her neglected garden
pokes up stalks of loss.
Wan, pale, red-eyed, she’s
the poster wife of Wynette’s
song, “Stand By Your Man.”
While I throw pennies
into a coin jar, Bear Stearns
gets a big bailout.
Unaware of her
beauty, unselfconsciousness
gives each movement grace.
Geeks transformed into
leading men stop hearts, but then
revert back next day.
Heating system dust –
particles of previous
occupants’ lives, selves.
Hats, gloves, put away
in optimism return
for winter’s last gasp.
Left in Manhattan
cab. Friends’ numbers, pix of my
kids in strangers’ hands.
Emily Bronte * labored quietly but I * scream “Here are my words!”