Friday, June 02, 2017

The Woman at Mercy Shelter

The Woman at Mercy Shelter

In the morning
she is like a rooster
talking to the sun,
to patches of light
on a wood floor.

She accounts for yesterday's 
passing, telling of her trip
to buy vegetables.

“Two cantaloupes so soft when I press
their skin. My thumbs get wet.”

“Asparagus on hidelike stems
stood like wood soldiers
in a bucket of water. I tiptoes past.”

She talks to cats and dogs,
to people on trains
who bury their eyes.

She talks to shadows
on sidewalks.

At night she holds
a hand mirror,
and talks to her face
bloated with words.

and Tomorrow, she says

I'm going home


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