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:
 

 

Fragile

 

  

Thoughts of a Dying Woman

 

  

Under the Couch