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Poetry > Individual Poems

At first it was little things, forgetfulnesses:
a kettle left to sing, appointments missed.
Eccentricities: shoes unmatched, hat

at a raffish angle. Took midnight strolls.
Returned to streets that had changed
while she was out, fumbled keys

in strange locks. Bewildered
by kindnesses, took tea, smiled
at faces, questions, strange wallpaper.

Recognitions came and went
as if a wind getting up swept them
like confetti through her mind.

(Old intimacies tossed against railings
down sidings.) Thoughts too brief
for recognition, leave disturbances.

She sits behind a small window they grime
with their passing, each a little more.
Absence settles in stale rooms, becomes presence.

Strangers come occasionally, wrestle
the stiff gate, the rusted latch, linger irritably
faces distorted with the ache of words.

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