Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Garage Sale

I sold her bed for a song. A song of yearning

like an orphan’s. Or the one knives carve into bread.

But the un-broken bread song too. For the song rivers

sing to the ferryman’s oars — with that dread in it.

For a threadbare tune: garroted, chest-choked,

cheap. A sparrow’s, beggar’s, a foghorn’s call.

For the kind of song only morning can slap on love-

stained sheets — that’s what I sold my mother’s bed for.

The one she died in. Sold it for a song.

—

From A New Hunger by Laure-Anne Bosselaar, published by Ausable Press, copyright 2007 Laure-Anne Bosselaar. Reprinted by permission of the author.