Lewis is gone, who came to tell me
in the middle of the night
that our lodgepole pine had fallen.
My dear Jane is gone, who vastly preferredvoluptuary to economizer.
And Hank? He’s gone—whose dark lip intrigued me.His father chewed ice
and spat it at passersby.
Jameson just slid away, the whole time moldingslippery clay into a hollow moon
with his lunatic hands.
In his bedroom closet, Sweet, his cat,birthed six wild clots of love
bred of her secret nights, while we,
still young,
scrubbed our speechless faces.Is lilac the word
you can never remember?
I thought so. Don’t worry.It all will bloom again.
Lilac Time by Diane Wald | Poetry Fabric Box
$15.00Price
