( these are still shabby, and definitely first drafts, but here they are)
Birdseed is, on my windowsill.
A car is, in the parking lot.
My dream of the bullying Sister Cromwell is,
Returning night after night
To tell me I must dispose of all my books.
I avail myself of a veil
The vale of tears
The veil that rain makes on her loom of light.
Travelling trials and tempest.
Bush denuded by my cousin and I
Who scattered white blossoms over the green lawn
Like torn up paper
Like litter glitters on green.
My parents' wedding day-
April 10 -
Cold and blustery in 1944
Outside the rectory of Saint Agnes Parish
In the brittle afternoon sun.
My mother holding her hat on her head,
Shivering in her new suit.
No wedding gown for the non-Catholic ceremony
Of thirtysomethings in the rectory.
My father dapper happy in a new dark suit
So glad she said yes.
The inner life of a paper clip.
To what does it long
To be attached?
What is its memory
Of being twisted into shape?
Does it resent not being