Thursday, October 27, 2005


Naked Duvet
J.B. Rowell

It almost looks purposeful,
the down comforter
haphazardly thrown on top.

Who has time to wash, dry,
and button on a coordinated cover,
or even make a bed?

I Stop Writing the Poem
Tess Gallagher

to fold the clothes. No matter who lives
or who dies, I’m still a woman.
I’ll always have plenty to do.
I bring the arms of his shirt
together. Nothing can stop
our tenderness. I’ll get back
to the poem. I’ll get back to being
a woman. But for now
there’s a shirt, a giant shirt
in my hands, and somewhere a small girl
standing next to her mother
watching to see how it’s done.


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