an emptiness, too, in the bright
flicker of a cardinal on my back fence
I’m sending my poems to reform school.
To prison. To the front lines. Straight to hell
on a one-way ticket.
What I’m learning about grief is that
it comes and goes, like the shadow in front of me
on the afternoon sidewalk.
You slept and your arms stretched and almost caressed
feeling between her
and Emily, the centuries in
between two women
alone in their rooms.
I pack a thermos, 2 cookies, tart apple slices that will later smile at you from a bag—My noontime missive, a text of seduction.