The Body the Distance Traveled

Morning spills from the bulk of a small house its quiet hour
unyoked to must

the shaggy elms raining green benediction

the arbutus with its red fruit a baretrunked palm’s spreading crest
dear to the mother of the gods

dim rooms’ few mysteries of light

the leaded body and stunned mind remembering fire


like waking to a front door standing open the panicked survey what’s askew no

the still gaping purse the small box with the small adornments yet

closed tight it was daylight when you came in

turning on then off the porchlight it must have been the wind
so strong anyone could have


the wanting back when you could not speak enough 
from the bruised body

the ready underworld and its glimpse of anthracite

like bats the names of things cling irretrievably

time to go

your dirty clothes your smoothed skirt did you look ok your shirt

that bore no wrinkle of caring

First appeared in New American Writing