A woman named Melissa
called
she said
squinting
with a thick leaden glare.
Her sulky lisp
carried a whiff
of damp black earth.
She turned away
and hunched
her shoulders
in a sullen heap
against him.
He thought
of small cadavers—
old crows or perhaps young rabbits—
soaked under a pile of leaves
and branches
spoiled by the thaw.
copyright © lcmt
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Oraisons Funèbres
PoetryCan you disabuse glass of its transparency? Poems by Lin Tarczynski, dedicated to the memory of Melva Jo Lewis of Lompoc, California.
