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THE WIDOW RECOVERING FROM LOVE1The fever's gone. I'm not used to a life without a fever-- a life where I am waiting for a stone to be rolled away, for the blue flower of courage to stand up by herself-- not a flower of craziness, but one that winks and turns and calls me close. 2 The fever's gone. The one who gave me perfect stones is gone. A new friend may hold me lightly as though I might break-- but I'm too grounded to break. 3 What do I put in place of the fever around my neck and head? I want to turn the place where the fever was into a three-story house in Wisconsin where I can hide. We will sit on the porch, cooling our fever with mint and one orange cut into eight pieces 4 In the morning my thoughts sometimes drift; will anyone think I am beautiful again? I am pregnant with emptiness, standing at the top of the stairs, and it's scary. 5 I need to go into the labyrinth that's in my house-- I've had a chance to dream, and now I'll need to go all the way in-- I have plenty of books. Only heaven in a black armored car can help me now. 6 I hope you will appreciate my clarity; I guide us along the path without touching you. 7 It's dark under my nails and hair-- no one's there but me. 8 I can control the extremes of my mood if I'm careful. The stick figures of guilt and obligation are dissolving-- at least for today, the fever's definitely gone. |
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Issue #19, March, 2001 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.