More women than you can imagine
eat breakfast alone
at a small table near a window
that looks out
on not much of anything.
The radio talks to them
of killings and the weather.
Some of the women are smiling.
Perhaps they grow geraniums
on their windowsill, are pleased
with the color.
More women than you think
sleep in a Murphy bed. They
push the heavy frame into the wall
in the morning, lower it at night,
dress it with sheets, a blanket,
a blue-striped seersucker spread.
But this is not a lament.
They sleep well most nights.
Sometimes moonlight... Read more
TAGS:
creative writing,
poem