If Sixteenth-Century Iznik Ware From Damascus Consists of Fine White Clay Mixed With Ground Quartz, Then
how you slip off your shoes, heel to instep,
left foot first, leaving them to form a T,
matters no more, is no more mine to keep,
than two snow shovels still outside, ready,
as drizzle washes June into July
and trïms the highway for one afternoon
with strings of headlights, no more than the way
the robin broods, wings spread out, to keep rain
from the eggs, the way her nest rapunzels
its longer, light-colored strands, how water
turns rust from red to brown on the wheelwells
of the plumber's spavined van, the clatter
that damned raccoon makes at night when he spills
the trash. But I will watch you, no matter.
From Poetry Magazine, Vol. 185, no. 3, Dec. 2004. Used with permission.
left foot first, leaving them to form a T,
matters no more, is no more mine to keep,
than two snow shovels still outside, ready,
as drizzle washes June into July
and trïms the highway for one afternoon
with strings of headlights, no more than the way
the robin broods, wings spread out, to keep rain
from the eggs, the way her nest rapunzels
its longer, light-colored strands, how water
turns rust from red to brown on the wheelwells
of the plumber's spavined van, the clatter
that damned raccoon makes at night when he spills
the trash. But I will watch you, no matter.
From Poetry Magazine, Vol. 185, no. 3, Dec. 2004. Used with permission.
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