That was the summer
real life got loud. Peonies, squirrels, teapots screaming
in my ear, though I knew it was the work of trickster
brain. Next, bird-smack on the slider, slammed thing
plopped off-kilter, cat come running to the glass, blood-
guttural in her throat. And my uterus wildly trying to make
more of itself. What were my cells murmuring? Ignore
the parade, keep to your quiet subtraction. Knit, purl,
clip, file, cry. Unravel the scarf of what you think
remains to you. A bit of good dumb human yarn.
Ellen Doré Watson
The Massachusetts Review Spring 2014
Copyright © 2014 by Ellen Doré Watson
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission