17 April 2012
06 April 2012
an old woman passes me carefully.
all my grandmothers live alone
contentedly. they miss their men,
but not in bed, not in the kitchen,
not deep in their work. if i outlive you
will i want nothing? winter always provides
a next thing to do: hurry home.
get warm. i turn my hands in steam
from the coffee. the perfect cold
without snow has undone a layer
of good farmland. how can we breathe
this air made visible by rising dust?
/ 'learning the elements' from the book salt air by sharon bryan