2
Separated by long years and the visibility poor,
her mood reflects the weather, darkening within.
Dishes, diapers, sighs, and pills ... roof by roof,
she hears the monotone of wheels recite the gloomy
catechism, and prays for a different kind of virgin
miracle.
Nervously, she rubs her good luck stone,
then wraps her thoughts in cellophane as a heroine
of film and fashion, glad to forget home, school,
and all the lost-girl tales they tell of Hollywood,
She listens, nods, and smokes. She does not mind his boasts,
only too aware how the ashes cling to his coat.
(1 x 1)n
I can accept
the being born
and the dying,
in doubt, alone.
I do not reject
or, seeing, scorn
anyone's crying
about the unknown.
And yet. And yet.
How the being alone
in the living
makes me mourn.
I can not forget
the breathing in stone,
unforgiving
and forsworn.