Fragile
in March
hours before we pulled up the drawbridge and shut down
my doctor gave me a box of nearly new women’s shoes size 7 ½ for
the shelter or the shop ore. . . from his wife who died quite suddenly I knew her
from high school when he slid the box of shoes into my car
he said she hated shoes I remember her Birkenstocks
we embraced a tiny buffer between anguish and the next breath
the neatly packed shoes wait in my closet for now
the seeds I planted in eggshells in March are tomato plants
I feel fragile sometimes
like the spider-crack on my computer screen
like a fault line
like a land mine
Selected Writings: