First Husband.
“Reflection,”
we call the mountain in the lake,
whose existence resides in neither stone
nor water.
Jane Hirshfield
"Articulation: An Assay"
Jane Hirshfield
"Articulation: An Assay"
There are so
many once the trunk is open they creep up,
escaping
snails, an ooze like yesterdays of unwashed
sex. But this: our first
trimester fetus is nothing
but a tremored torque,
but a tremored torque,
a grabbed
wrist and when, oh my sweet
sweet nothing when
sweet nothing when
the ballast
tipped it simply flowed
out, red
rivulet of night
breath. I never told him, first
husband. And now he’s as gone as wee
baby leaving me
with a split raft
pole and a
bundle. I tied each to each
and walked…
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