Poem Serving As An Admonishment To A Forgetful Woman
Sunday August 8, 2010
Nadja, an unqualified audience of one considered your slim blue glove and found in its fingers an endless and sorrowful series of questions to which you, by your absence, were unable to answer. Returning home, they began imagining their own hand, resting listlessly, as severed. The blood sitting coolly in its veins, like silk threads untangled and fraying.
