Poetry

Thou heardst me, truer than tongue, confess…

She is edgy and bored in the adult

Safely young and just beginning,

oh sweet husband of mine

I am sure it rained there. But that is not what I remember.

Almost three years gone down the back roads of Ohio

Maybe it was the scraping and flung petals, the orange

At twenty-one, a new Hunter College graduate,

There have been crucifixions, too,