the old Parisian dame
in her trompe l'oeil
sweater has trouble explaining
her loss to Americans
she's spent sixty years
in Rhode Island suburbs
and she still stumbles
wearing a foreign tongue
her husband who's radiantly
powerful in old photographs
retreats upstairs dragging his
feet when company calls
the front gate is
grown over with moss
her dogs make sorrowful
noises when it's opened
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
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