The love for her // was, then // it wasn’t

It’s true–   wind has a home–

you forgot–    where was the last place you left

your heart–     in the garden, by his shoes.

you think it doesn’t matter–   that sound.

does grief have wings–      hope,

grief, here–    his wings.


who needs me

I have minutes, another

love in mind.   In my

kitchen,    a mother

sounds like my mother– sorrow–

but it’s not.   a sparrow

reminds me:  forget it.

what I meant to say doesn’t

matter.   minutes, my mother:

an abstraction.  who needs

me– the love I had

for her.   was, then

it wasn’t.


I pretend, sometimes, you’re already dead.

when driving to buy plums, because

once, you stopped on the side of the road

in the hill country. I was small, but

I thought I was angry

at everyone–you don’t remember

this–you said: eat one. The sun,

setting.  Whatever, you don’t

remember. I used to hurt you

by saying nothing. You’ll miss me

when I’m dead and gone. You said

eat one. The sun, setting. Whatever,

I was small–I thought I was

angry at everyone.


I might go before you, though

they say it isn’t natural–forgivness

wings over us. Imagine–

the last word, maybe

that’s why–it sounds

like world, or


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